


The Headcase

by WellofHavoc



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Court Case, Crime Fighting, Daddevil and Spiderson, Gen, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Trans Peter Parker, fun with secret identities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29336286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellofHavoc/pseuds/WellofHavoc
Summary: After being outed as Spiderman, Peter Parker flees to SHIELD in the hopes that they can offer some help. He gets it, albeit less directly than he'd hoped for. Now He fights with not only the legal system and what's left of Mysterio, but his own lawyer and fellow heroes who swear they're only trying to help.It can be hard to accept help sometimes. It can be even harder when accepting help is what got him into this mess to begin with.((Not necessary to have watched the Netflix Daredevil series all the way through, as this story is from Peter's perspective and he has stuff explained to him. Though, a base understanding of the character is encouraged.))
Relationships: Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO happy to see this is a genre of fanfic ever since the Charlie Cox leaks. I'm honestly just hoping for a shout out at this point, I don't even need him on screen. Until then, I'm happy to provide all of my Spiderman 3 predictions in fanfiction format.

A well-deserved vacation after having spent half a year rebuilding a world from the literal ashes of a world five-years dead was apparently too much for Nick Fury to ask, having been summoned back home with the urgent call of “Spiderman is a wanted war criminal.”

The kid, in his panic, had fled directly to SHIELD, who’d detained him and held him under their jurisdiction.

That had been good enough to stall until Fury ditched the coconut martini in favor of a stiff, black coffee he currently held under his nose as he glared at a very sheepish Peter Parker.

“You’re in some deep shit, Parker. Deeper than a lot of the other supers I’ve seen, and I’ve seen the others get into some  _ deep _ shit.”

“I know,” he said, lips trembling as a long frown was drawn over his face. “I know, I just... I know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well duh, that’s why you’re here. You realize your case doesn’t fall under SHIELD’s jurisdiction, right?”

“Because… because it’s international?”

“Because it’s  _ public. _ It’s  _ very  _ public. You’re going to have to go through a lot of battles with the courts to just have them hear you out- just to make sure you’re getting a trial before your peers and not some stuffy guys in their white collars getting pressured to make a call one way or another by their people. Then you’re actually going to have to convince those peers that you aren’t the one behind this.”

Peter stood as much as he could with his hands cuffed to the table. “But I’m  _ not  _ the one who-!”

“Sit your ass  _ down.” _

Mouth snapping shut, the corner of his eye twitched. His face grew pink, and Fury wasn’t sure if the blush was born of rage or embarrassment. Still, he sat down, eyes falling to his hands.

“I know you didn’t do it,” he said. “Do you think I’d be here talking to you if I didn’t? I’ll tell you one thing, if I didn’t believe you, a performance like that would not be anyway to convince me otherwise.”

The air grew heavy around them, only broken when Peter began to nod. It was slow at first, as if he was trying to convince himself to calm down, speed growing along with his understanding. When he dared to again meet Fury’s gaze, it was with broken eyes with a pleading glimmer that looked even more pathetic when matched with the clothes he’d been given while under arrest in the base- a ratty set of sweats, the shirt of which almost looked like a dress with how big it was on him. It was probably from the excess pile they kept around for new recruits and those who stayed on base and forgot something to exercise in.

“How  _ do  _ I convince people?”

“Asking that question is a good first step. Getting a good lawyer is your next.”

“But,” Peter’s eyes again returned to his hands, “I don’t really- I don’t have money for a good lawyer.”

“Give me more credit than that. I’m not entirely useless.” Fury laughed when that got Peter to perk back up. It was like he’d just squeaked a toy in front of a puppy. “I got you the best lawyer I could find.”

“A lawyer from SHIELD? He’s gotta be pretty good then, right?” There he went trying to convince himself again. “I mean, if he’s used to covering up alien stuff or helping SHIELD keep things secret then-”

“No no, he’s not officially on SHIELD’s retainer. He just happens to owe me a favor.”

Peter’s shoulders fell. “But you said he was the best?”

“Yeah, the best I could find. Not many out there willing to step into a court room on the side of the ‘Spider-Menace.’ Quite a name you’ve made for yourself, you know.” 

A lump in his throat, Peter had to work to swallow it down. The cuffs jingled and rattled against the bolt holding him to the table when he reached up to grab his own arm, preventing him from completing the motion before he dropped his hands again with a wince.

Finally, he said again, “I know.”

Fury nodded and dragged himself out of his own chair before shuffling toward the door. “I’ll have your guy in here in a minute. He had a bit of trouble getting to our base- waited until the last minute to tell us he’d need someone to drive him. Can you believe that?”

“Really?”

Fury let out a long sigh. “Well, maybe it’s more my fault. Not like you can just take a cab to a secret pick up site for an agency like SHIELD.”

He left Peter after that. On his own, his mind wandered and he imagined what his lawyer would be like.

_ His lawyer. _

He wondered what Stark would think if he could see him now. They’d first met when he was being brought on to stop an international fugitive. Maybe Stark would be easier on him since they were on good terms with one another. Then again, he’d been on good terms with Captain America before that, too.

It was possible that Stark would have just been happy Peter turned himself in, if still ashamed that Peter had allowed this to happen with the technology entrusted to him.

That realization was a tough pill to swallow: This was all his fault.

The click of the door opening startled him out of his thoughts and made him jump in his seat as a tall man with dark, ginger hair was revealed. His eyes were hidden behind red-tinted sunglasses, which puzzled Peter until he noticed the cane hanging by his side.

He used the cane to find his way to the table, where he set down a row of folders stacked atop an oddly shaped laptop. Rather than sitting down right away, he instead offered his hand.

“I’m Matt Murdock, your lawyer. You must be Peter Parker.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, standing to shake Matt’s hand only for the chains to yet again limit his reach with a loud  _ chunk.  _ He frowned and pulled back. “I’m sorry, they- I’m chained to the, uh-”

Matt cut him off with a soft laugh. “It’s no problem, really,” he said, moving forward to instead meet Peter’s grip. He waited for Peter to properly shake his hand to add, “I have a feeling we’ll be meeting halfway on a lot of things in this case.”

Melancholy hid behind his words as he moved the seat from the opposite side of the table where Fury had sat to instead sit adjacent to Peter. There he opened his laptop and plugged in a pair of headphones, of which he only put on one in the ear on the far side from where Peter was sitting.

He’d spoken quietly, yet quickly. Not a word was spared from a moment he’d entered the room

“Before we get started, I know we both know why I’m here, but I’d really like to hear out the events from your perspective. I understand that, while in Europe, you became involved with Mysterio-”

“Ah, Quentin Beck,” Peter chimed in, freezing when Matt’s face fell flat.

“I, I mean- Quentin Beck was his real name.”

Matt smiled again. “Yes, Quentin Beck. And Fury was the one who put you into contact with him?”

“Yeah, but it’s not his fault that this all happened.”

Matt put a hand up. “Slow down. We’re not telling anyone they’re at fault just yet. That’s for the court to decide, right?”

It took a moment for Peter to swallow down his immediate protests, instead falling back against his seat.

“Right, yeah.”

Matt seemed to know he wasn’t convinced, turning more toward Peter and tilting his head.

“Hey, I know you’re going through a lot right now. You’re trying to sort out a lot of different ideas from conflicting angles, and if you keep doing that, it’s going to tear you apart. Let me help you break it down into smaller pieces, then you can deal with what happened more objectively. Does that sound okay?”

A long silence stretched between them, during which Peter fussed with a length of his chain. The tension fell from his shoulders with each of Matt’s words, his soft tone growing more soothing by the minute. It wasn’t a promise he was ready to fall into- that Matt could do more to put him at ease than to lend him any legal help- but for a moment, he could say, “Yeah. It sounds great,” and mean it because it did sound great, no matter if he believed it or not.

Matt offered a tight smile and returned his hands to his keyboard.

“Let’s get back to Beck. He told you he came from another world and that he was here to avenge it.”

Seeing that Matt was waiting for him to confirm that, Peter said, “Yeah, the- the same lie he told everyone else.”

“Okay, and was this before or after you were entrusted with the Stark technology?”

Peter lapped at his bottom lip. “Y- it- uh, it was after.”

“Great.” Matt typed out a few things. “And it was just the glasses, right?”

“Just,” Peter remembered the first time he heard the meaning behind EDITH’s name, “just glasses, yeah.”

“And how much did you know about what they could do?”

Peter shook his head slowly. “Everything.”

“As in, you knew everything about how they worked?”

“No. No, I mean: I thought they could do everything. At least, it seemed like it, at first. Missiles and personal information- all of this data it- I,” he shuddered, “I couldn’t handle it at first, you know?”

“At first? So you got used to it over time?”

“No. Not really, I mean.” It had been the first time since he’d gotten EDITH back- even though SHIELD had confiscated the tech as soon as he’d turned himself in- that he’d admitted that to anyone, even himself. “It was just so much that-”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me just yet. Just take it slow. You’re doing great.”

Again, Peter shook his head. “I don’t feel like I’m doing anything.”

“You’re doing a lot of important groundwork for your case, and you’re doing a great job.”

In a hollow voice, Peter asked, “And what is my case, Mr. Murdock? I’m sorry for asking, but a lot of these questions- they don’t seem very important.”

Matt leaned back, curling one of his hands around his cane only to lay the other over the top as he focused entirely on Peter.

“I guess it wasn’t fair of me to just ask all of these questions without explaining anything first,” he conceded. “So, Peter, what kind of questions do you think are important?”

“I- we,” Peter’s eyes fell to the table. “We need to find Mysterio. The rest of them, I mean. When we do that, we can probably get the data they used to build the elementals and- and we can prove I’m not the one who did it!”

Matt tilted and bobbed his head, as if considering the proposal. “And you’re going to do that?”

Peter shrunk back. “Don’t you think I could?”

“I believe Spiderman could, definitely. You’re a very capable hero, but no one will just accept SHIELD letting you back out into the fray like that. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the impact the Ultron incident has left on the world. People don’t put blind faith in heroes like they used to. The only thing that prevented civil unrest when Captain America led his uprising against SHIELD and the US Government was that it was mainly an internal affair and it was clear that he’d already achieved his objective when he left US jurisdiction.

“What they think you did, Peter, was lead a terrorist attack on a foreign country. Several countries, actually, and these countries aren’t like Sokovia. It’s hard to admit to ourselves, but there are a lot of countries, especially in Eastern Europe that people just plain don’t care about. Western European countries, especially the larger ones like England and Italy, are about as far away from that reputation as you can get.

“What do you think would happen if SHIELD let you out right now and you went around swinging from webs? Let’s pretend for a moment that everyone in America believes you’re innocent. Would the people of London, Prague, Morocco, or any of the countries who felt threatened by Beck’s Elementals simply let that happen, or would they see it as an insult?”

Each word was like a weight on Peter’s shoulders, settling atop the others that had long been placed there with a force he hadn’t felt before. It was as though, rather than just pointing out what should have been obvious, Matt was uncovering some dark truth about his situation: Peter was trapped.

“I- they would be insulted and…” He couldn’t finish the thought.

War cut across his vision- a great battle on the same level as the one Thanos had waged on the world.

That’s what it would be if it came to that- another World War.

“Hey,” Matt said, his voice again rhythmic rather than heavy and low with warning, “I’m not trying to be an ass about it. I’m just trying to be realistic.” He held up his cane to bump the bottom of his shades, a sad smile crossing his face. “I’m afraid these rose-colored glasses are only for show.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “I guess I did sound a bit stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Mat corrected. “You were just going for the easiest option. If I could bring the people who did this to you in- the people who sent out that doctored video and orchestrated those attacks- I would. Unfortunately, we’re just going to have to do things the hard way and take it slow to make sure we don’t miss anything. Can you help me with that?”

“Yeah.” He bit back a sigh. “Yeah, I can do that, but… Yeah.”

Matt cocked his head to one side. “What is it, Peter?”

His pitch raised as he asked, “Did Fury tell you it was doctored?”

Matt smiled and shook his head.

“No uh, I- well, it’s a bit hard to explain. My associate and I just agreed that it was obviously not the original footage. I noticed a change in your tone between words, where I assume the audio was stitched together, and then he was the one to point out that it cut away from your mouth just before the ‘order’ was given. This was all long before Fury reached out to me, of course.”

“But if you know that it was doctored, then can’t we use that?”

“Unfortunately it’s only speculation without the original audio and video clips, and coming from Foggy and I, I don’t think it would do much for you. It’s possible that once we get you in front of a jury, we can pull them around and make sure we get you a gallery that is more likely to buy into that speculation or at least one less trusting of that crack-shot journalist.”

Peter laughed, the noise genuine if a bit muffled. “I guess there’s no way to get people to forget I’m Spiderman though, huh? That- that Spiderman is Peter Parker?”

The small sigh of frustration Matt let out was answer enough without the  _ tut _ and words that followed it. “I’m afraid not. Though, after we prove that you’re not guilty, we could go after Mr. Jamison for violation of Title 18 119. Actually, why don’t we..” He began thumbing through his stacks of folders, running his thumb along the tabs where Peter could see braille lining the tops. “There we go.” He slid one over. “Go ahead and look that over. You complied with the Sokovia Accords and registered as an official employee of not only the United Nations but also the US Government, which qualifies you for protection against invasive reporting, such as your full legal name. That’s all ignoring the fact that you’re a minor in the state of New York- where Jamison is also located- and that on its own protects you from such behaviors. If he were a real reporter, we’d probably only be able to get his job. Since he’s actually just some guy with a website, we’ll probably be able to get him a fine.”

Peter looked up from the words he didn’t really understand, his brow furrowed in confusion as heat pooled into his face. “A  _ ‘fine?’ _ The guy ruins my life and he’s only gonna get  _ fined?” _

A tight frown appeared on Matt’s face as he nodded and slid the folder back in front of him so that he could return it to his stack.

“If we’re lucky and there isn’t any damage to you in the time between now and when we officially go after Jamison, then yes, I’m afraid a fine is all we can get you.”

Leaning his elbows onto the table, Peter cheated his body more towards the lawyer. “What do you mean by ‘damage?’ He called me a criminal.”

“And while that is definitely something we can bring up- the official term being defamation- damage that would end with Jamison in jail would be more something along the lines of loss of income or bodily harm to you or someone close to you as a result of people knowing you’re Spiderman.”

_ Someone close to… _

Peter gasped, either of his hands raising as he shot out of his chair and said “Aunt May!”

This time, he was able to stand to his full height, as the bolt came out of the table, dragging a few shards along with it. Mortification set in soon after when Peter noticed the damage, stuck between falling back into his seat and rushing out of the base he’d only given himself over to a week prior.

“Peter, please calm down.”

“I’m sorry- I just- my aunt is all alone now, and everyone knows I’m Spiderman, if any of the villains I stopped in New York find out or Hydra or people who hated Tony I-”

Matt didn’t have to say anything, he only snapped out of his chair, standing as he focused on Peter. It was as though he could see him, though Peter knew that couldn’t be true. Still, the way his glasses reflected Peter’s scared expression, it was a wake up call. He found himself settling back down, uselessly laying his hands on the table so that his wrists met the edge as he close his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

Matt’s warm hand settled on his shoulder.

“There we go. It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure Fury has already worked out something for your Aunt- a safe house, possibly. It was my understanding that you also have a lot of friends at Stark Industries, correct? Is there anyone there who might reach out to help her?”

Happy’s face entered his mind and brought him to further relax.

“I- yeah, yeah you’re right. I’m sorry, I-” he looked at where the chain had once connected to the table. “I guess this isn’t gonna look so good in a court room, huh?

“This isn’t a police station, Peter,” Matt laughed as he returned to his own seat. “I don’t think the camera in here’s actually running, and if it was, I’m sure Fury would be more than happy to not use this footage against you and write off this damage some other way. Heck, I’ll take the blame for it if I have to.”

He played into it when Peter let out another laugh, smirking as he leaned across the table. “What? Don’t think I could do it?”

Scoffing, Peter only waved him off. “Nah, in a place like this? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the next hero in the making.” His eyes again found the table. “I know this probably sounds bad, but I’ve been so focused on what’s gonna happen to me… thinking about my aunt, it makes me wonder what New York is gonna…” He shook the thought from his head. “I’m sorry, it sounds  _ really _ narcissistic.”

“You’re worried what they’re going to do without you.”

Peter didn’t answer one way or the other, knowing Matt knew he had guessed correctly but still unwilling to say it outloud.

“I don’t think that’s narcissistic at all.”

Peter flinched at that, his eyes meeting his red-tinted reflection.

“No, seriously. You’re so young, but you’ve done so much of the heavy lifting around New York. I hope I’m not the first person to say ‘Thank you,’ for that. Still, you’re not the only hero in the state. There are plenty of others willing to step up if you need some time to focus on this major event in your life.”

“Other heroes?” he squeaked out, having to blink away the image of Tony that attempted to form at the idea. “I… you know the Avengers are gone, right?”

Matt chuckled. “I think I’d have to be pretty far under a rock not to know that. I meant other heroes more specifically in New York- like um…” he trailed off, head tilting back before he turned back to Peter, “like Daredevil, for instance.”

Peter returned the smile flashed at him, only for it to bow sheepishly. “Isn’t he  _ also  _ a wanted criminal?”

Matt’s own smile wavered and he turned back to his laptop with his hands on the keys. “Maybe we should just focus on your case.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Fury did look the other way regarding the table. He’d rattled off something very loudly in the hall about how it was an old bolt anyway and that he was sure he’d had the Blob or some other, massive mutant on hold in there a few days prior. No one had dared to question him of course as he escorted Peter back to his holding cell.

There Peter had waited until he was brought back to another holding room this time, Fury nodding to the table and graciously giving him a bit more lead on his chains. He still had to wear them, but he was able to breathe a bit easier knowing it was mostly for show.

He didn’t move this time when the door opened, Matt again entering with another man behind him and a plain-looking gift bag hanging off of the arm not holding his cane.

“Hey,” the other man said, shouldering past Matt to offer his hand to Peter. “I’m Foggy Nelson of _Nelson and Murdock._ Very happy to be on this case.”

Peter shook his hand, carefully standing up to do so properly and only shuddering when he heard the longer links scrape over one another.

“Wow, thank you,” Peter said. “I’m Peter, by the way, but I guess you already knew that?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Matt came to stand beside them. “Foggy’s been helping me put together your case since Fury called, but he took a bit longer to get cleared.”

“Well it’s not like we’ve all been to a fancy, secret base before and have our SHIELD passes ready to go.” Foggy rolled his eyes, only straightening up when he noticed that Matt was turned towards him, at which point he clapped his hands together. “Right- anyway, onto the case! Now, usually, there would be the preliminary hearing, but because this is an international case and you know, it’s so big-”

“And the allotted time for that hearing is well overdue since you’ve turned yourself in,” Matt chimed in.

“Yeah, and that means we’re basically just going to your arraignment.”

“But before we do that,” Matt offered the bag on the end of his cane, “We’re going to give you a minute to change into those.” Only when Peter tentatively pulled the bag off by the handle did he continue. “Then we’ll have a couple of hours so that we can talk over how you want to approach your trial. I’ve taken the liberty of getting your aunt’s phone number, as she is your legal guardian, and she will be present for the arraignment as well.”

Peter froze where he was opening the bag, his face lighting up as he instead turned back to Matt and Foggy.

“I’m gonna get to see May!?”

Matt chuckled, giving a small nod. “She’s just as excited to see you, believe me.”

“Yeah, and she is a hundred percent in your corner,” Foggy said. “She wanted us to tell you she’s not letting you plead guilty.”

Those words closed Peter in on himself, forcing him to shrink back in his chair.

“I- You don’t think I would, right? I mean, I didn’t do this.”

“We know you didn’t,” Matt said. “Your aunt knows that, too. She’s just a little confused about how and why you turned yourself in. Don’t worry, though. You did the right thing.”

“Better than that,” Foggy said, “you did the _best_ thing by turning yourself in to someone you can trust. Not a lot of our clients get that luxury.”

The word luxury made Peter pull a face, as he was still wearing an over-sized, itchy tracksuit.

Remembering that Matt had suggested he change, he looked back into the bag and pulled out a button up shirt with a familiar pattern.

“Hey, is this from my closet?”

“Like I said,” Matt smiled, “I took the liberty of getting into contact with your aunt. She was more than happy to pull out a presentable outfit for your hearing.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. “Really, thank you guys so much!”

“Literally just doing our jobs,” Foggy said. “We should be thanking _you._ I mean, _hello,_ Spiderman? You’re the one that really goes above and beyond here.”

The bag crinkled as it bowed under Peter’s fingers, pushing it tighter against his chest. “That’s kind of what got me into trouble this time, though, huh?”

“Kind of,” Matt said, his voice matter-of-fact. He stepped forward and rested a hand on Foggy’s shoulder. “Like I said, we’ll let you change, then we can get going to the board room.”

“Wait, the hearing is gonna be here?”

“Well you’re not going to be let off base just yet,” Matt said.

“So my aunt is coming here?”

“Yes,” Matt said. “And like I said, we’ll only have a few hours once she is here to go over your worst case scenario.”

As he spoke, Peter found himself wanting to understand. Still fear crept into his voice as he asked, “And what is the worst case scenario.”

Matt pursed his lips, patted Foggy on the shoulder, and took a step back toward the door. “Why don’t you just get dressed? We can talk about this once we’re all together.”

They left quietly, and Peter would think later that maybe he said good-bye to them under the ringing in his ears. He’d known this wasn’t a good situation for anyone involved, so it wasn’t as though this was new information.

It was still a weird perspective to have.

He waited for a pair of guards to come in- one keeping a gun trained on him while the other uncuffed his hands. After they left, he dressed quickly, perhaps a bit too grateful that May’d included underwear and maybe spending a bit too long debating whether or not to fix the tie at the bottom of the bag around his neck. He ended up doing so before shrugging on the blazer and smoothing out the wrinkles in the suit.

After a moment of waiting for the guards to come back or someone else to come in, he stumbled over to the door- the gift bg now holding his track suit- and knocked.

“Stand back from the door,” a guard’s voice tutted, and he complied, walking himself back to the table and even taking a seat before the guards returned to place him in another set of cuffs and walk him into the dimly lit hall.

From there he was led through a series of corridors by a lead attached to his chains.

It was the ring of those chains that signalled his presence to Matt, who was waiting outside of what Peter could only assume was the boardroom, its walls facing the hall made of frosted glass. Through them, he could only make out two shapes, and he perked up at the knowledge that one of them was May.

“You can release him, now,” Matt said. When the guards hesitated, he insisted, “Take the cuffs off. I’m sure Fury’s already informed you I am more than capable if he tries to escape.”

The guards exchanged looks, and even Peter pulled a face at the idea. Sure, Matt was tall, but he wasn’t exactly built. Even if he had been, Peter could toss a car with one hand. One man would mean nothing. Maybe that was the idea, though, as the guards did undo his binds, allowing him to rub at his wrists as Matt put a hand on his back and guided him to the door.

As soon as he’d entered the room, he was pushed back out from the force of arms wrapping around his shoulders as Aunt May tackled him into a hug.

“Peter-!” She squeezed him a bit tighter and pulled back to grapple at his face. “Are you okay? They’re feeding you, right? Oh my God, your hands,” she pulled away again to examine his wrists, bruised from having broken his shackles away from the table.

“It’s nothing,” he said, pulling them away. “It’s healing up quick. Always does.”

Her concern mixed into a frown, her face growing red as she forced herself to take deep breaths.

“You should have come to me first.”

“I know, I-”

“You should have gone to _Happy.”_

“I know, May, I-”

“Why didn’t you just come home?”

He grabbed her shoulders and leaned forward. “May, I’m _sorry._ I’m sorry I didn’t come to you first, I thought Fury could fix everything, but that was stupid, and I know you were right there and I didn’t even go home first I just didn’t know what else to do I just-”

“Sh sh sh- Peter, Peter…” 

She brought her hands to cover his forearms just under the bruises from the chains. Her thumb ran over them in small circles until his grip on her shoulders relaxed. Then, slower this time, she pulled him into another hug.

It was less frantic, his head pulled to lay on her shoulder like he hadn’t done since he was a kid. There he could almost hear her panicked heart beat thrum through her chest as he squeezed his eyes shut and his arms fell to scoop under hers and holder her back.

“I’m sorry, May.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she corrected. 

Her hand ran delicately over his head, looping through and under the gentle curls in his hair.

“I never thought… I was thinking of what I would have done. You were scared and you ran to the person you thought could help the most. I just have to accept that,” she let out a wet laugh, one laced with self-pity, “I’m not that person for you, anymore.”

“May, no,” he said, pulling away so that they were again at arm’s length. “You help, you help a ton, I just…” 

His eyes trailed to Foggy, standing awkwardly against a wall with Matt just in front of him. The former pursed his lips as he turned his head back around to face straight ahead while Matt continued standing in Peter’s direction with a small smile.

“I.” Peter turned to his aunt, his voice raising in pitch even as he lowered it to ask, “can we talk about this later?”

She laughed and grabbed at his cheek, cupping it with her hand. “Of course, Pete.”

“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” Matt said as he moved to stand between where they were still stuck in the doorway, “but we have a lot of ground to cover regarding your nephew’s case and what’s available to us right now.”

“Right,” she agreed, pulling her long hair out of her face as she ushered Peter inside. “So, give it to me straight, doc, since you didn’t want to say anything over the phone. What’s going to happen to him?”

“Well, first,” Foggy dug through his satchel and produced a file that he placed on the table before taking a seat two chairs down from it, “this is the plan Matt and I drew up for the trial once we get to the actual court.”

“And that’s today?” she asked, already sliding into the seat and pulling the folder open.

Peter settled next to her and leaned over to peak at its contents, Matt leaving the chair between May and Foggy opened as he instead took the one on the opposite side of his friend.

“No, Mrs. Parker,” Matt said. “This is just a meeting between us and the prosecution to go over the charges and our terms for the trial. Peter will confirm that he’s to plead ‘not guilty,’ and we’ll figure out the terms for the holding period.”

“You mean ‘bail,’” she said, “right?”

Peter exchanged a look with Foggy who turned away at the suggestion.

Matt answered, “I don’t think you’re going to be granted bail, ma’am. If the judge did grant bail, the number would probably be too high for you to pay.”

“Isn’t that illegal!?”

“It’s illegal to not return bail money if the client returns, but proving any amount of money unreasonable for a crime of the size Peter is being accused of is going to be more trouble than it’s worth. It’d be a court case in and of itself, and as I said, I don’t think he’ll even be granted bail in the first place.”

“So what’s going to happen? He’s going to stay here? Be in prison? Go to a mutant holding facility?”

Peter forced a small smile and gently grabbed her arm. “May, it’s fine.”

She whirled on him. “It’s not fine, Peter. You don’t know what they do at those things. Hell, _I_ don’t even know what they do at those things.”

“They’re not pretty,” Matt said, drawing everyone’s attention.

 _“Matt-!”_ Foggy said, “You’re not helping.”

“No, but none of this is, really. If we’re lucky, though, and we don’t push for bail, Foggy and I think we can get you a better deal: House arrest with a surveillance patrol.”

May sank in her seat. “At our apartment?”

Foggy shook his head. “They may not allow that, depending on how much they trust Peter to not have stored some kind of technology there.”

“What kind of technology!? He’s seventeen and our landlord won’t even let us put in a shelf. Do you think he has some kind of secret panels in his room?”

“He _is_ seventeen,” Matt said, “and we want nothing more than to make sure he’s with his legal guardian in a safe facility. This is probably the best thing for both of you right now, and it’s, again, the best deal you’re likely to get.”

There was a beat of silence where May’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes fell back to the file.

“So what is this?”

“That is our full plan of attack for this trial, which we’re willing to work out further. And this,” Foggy paused and pulled out another folder, “is a stack of previous cases where members of SHIELD, supers, and US employees such as police officers and FBI agents were relocated for unconventional detainment prior to their trials.”

“So he’d be under house arrest until his trial is over?” May said. “That’s it?”

“Yes,” Matt said. “Assuming everything goes well, which we think it will, you’ll both be free after that.”

“And how long will the trial take?”

The chair cushion squeaked under Foggy as he readjusted himself in his seat. “Well, trials can take up to six months.”

“Assuming you don’t want to waive your right to a fast trial to give us more time to go over your case and possibly wait until SHIELD is able to dig up more information on Quentin Beck’s group,” Matt cut in. “It’s actually something we’re going to bring up in today’s meeting.”

All color had already drained from May’s face, her right hand twisted in the topmost sheet of paper while the other laid limply on the desk. Peter took that hand into each of his own, watching her slowly release the paper before squeezing his hand tightly in a quick pulse.

Recomposed, she turned to the lawyers. “And what about the trial? Do you think he has a shot?”

Foggy let out a nervous laugh and didn’t look up from the table. “Mrs. Parker-”

“I mean it. I’m asking for your honest, _real_ opinions. I don’t want you to comfort me, and I’m the only one who gets to coddle him.” She wound an arm around Peter’s shoulders and held him closer. “I already told you to give it to me straight.”

Another moment where no one spoke passed over the room before Matt leaned a bit across the table.

“What we’re hoping for is a domestic trial proceeding one in an international court. That’ll give us two opportunities to prove Peter’s innocence, and if we can manage it the first time, the second will only be a formality. Best case scenario is that we win both cases and he walks. Worst case scenario is that we lose, and international terrorism on this level would get him at least a life time sentence with no chance of patrol for each of the countries hit. More likely, even as a minor in the US, we’re looking at the death penalty.”

May, as if she’d been waiting to hear that, immediately brought her free hand from the paper to cover her mouth. There it muffled a small yelp before she moved it to her eyes. Her fingers moved over her temples, and she took in a shaky breath. Peter peeled one of his hands from hers to grab her around the shoulders as well.

“May, it’s fine. It’s fine, I’m innocent. They’ll know that, right Mr. Murdock?”

He nodded, the motion a bit too stiff to boast confidence. “At the very least, it’s most likely we’ll be able to play into a lot of factors surrounding this case.”

Foggy slid over a tissue box from the center of the table as he added, “Yes, because Peter is a minor, and it’s not like anyone will believe he just did this on his own.”

Peter tried not to look offended at the small laugh in the other lawyer’s tone.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, you may be a vigilante,” he said, “but you’ve done nothing but comply with SHIELD and the Avengers in the p-”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he asked in an all-too-calm voice, “You’re going to blame SHIELD?”

“No,” Matt said. “Not directly, anyway. Our basis for this case is that you didn’t do this, because you didn’t. However, ‘Not Guilty’ isn’t always about innocence. Our trump card is that, even if you had been involved in this, you have a long track record of only doing what you’re told. If we can plant a seed of doubt in the jurors- or counsel or whoever we’re trying to convince in this trial- that you were the head of this operation or even that you were fully culpable for the attacks in Europe, they can’t say that you’re guilty.”

“That’s good,” May said, nodding as she took in a breath. “You just need to make them believe that he couldn’t have come up with the idea on his own.”

“Exactly,” Foggy said. “For today, though, we just wanna focus on getting you two somewhere safe. Usually we do this kind of thing in the courtroom, but I guess the courts wanted you to stay in SHIELD custody until we had that finalized.”

Matt chimed in, “Probably Fury’s doing.”

The shorter man rolled his eyes. “Even though it only makes our job harder.”

That piqued May’s interest, her eyes darting between the two. “What? How?”

Foggy held up his hands and turned entirely toward her in his chair. “In a courtroom, presence is everything. You don’t want the judge to think you’re disrespecting them. That’s why even over video, we’re gonna do the ‘all rise’ thing and make sure your eyes are on the camera at all times- don’t want them to think you’re not interested.

“Oh, and, can the two of you switch seats? It’ll be easier to refer to Peter if he’s closer.” He shifted his head back and forth, as if literally weighing the options for what he wanted to say before turning to Peter. “You’ll also look smaller next to me, which doesn’t usually matter, but it totally does since we’re trying to emphasize that you’re only a teenager.”

Peter’s arms crossed over his upper arms. “I don’t know about that? I mean, acting like I’m just a regular teenager when I’m a superhero…”

“It’s not lying,” Matt said. “Peter, I know you’re used to being the superhero that New York looks up to, and I’m not trying to diminish your accomplishments in any way when I say this: You are a teen. That counts a lot in not only this court case, but what happened to you. If you don’t believe you’re innocent- completely innocent- then the jury won’t either. Now I’m here to tell you that I believe you when you say you didn’t do this, and I’m also going to say that you’re not responsible for your role in how it happened, understand?”

Peter could hear his own heartbeat racing in his ears. It rang loud, and he was sure Matt could hear it from the way he immediately raised a hand as if to calm Peter down.

“I’m not trying to put more stress on you,” he said. “I just want you to know that we don’t blame you for what happened, but I can tell that part of this is weighing on you. More than in the sense that you’re taking the blame for it, I think part of you actually thinks you’re the reason any of this happened. You need to know this could have stopped with Fury, with Stark, even with Beck. None of it came down to you, so it shouldn’t come down _on_ you.”

Still unsure of what that meant, Peter nodded anyway, and only when he remembered Matt couldn’t see it, managed to say, “I understand. Thanks, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt, in turn, barely managed his own front: A small smile. “Don’t thank me yet. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

They get right into the work, starting on the arraignment after sliding into their proper seats. Just like Foggy said, they waited until the judge had sat and the bailiff at his side gave them the same permission. The prosecution- which Matt had said would most likely be a stand in- was also on the large monitor plastered to the wall of the meeting room.

Not dressed in the robes Peter had seen on TV, this scrawny man wore a finely pressed suit, his liver spotted hands curled around different papers as he read them over. Off screen, Peter could hear someone typing something out as he was asked if he would like to waive his right to a full reading of the charges. Foggy was the one to say he did, the four of them having discussed that prior.

Then it was onto the core of the meeting, it seemed, as the judge let out a heavy sigh, adjusted his glasses, and set down his papers.

 _“Well, then I don’t suppose I’m going to get an easy confession out of you, am I, young man?”_ he asked. His jaw moved a bit after he spoke.

Peter straightened up a bit. “Uh, I’m- I’m not guilty, sir.”

_“‘Your honor,’ Mr. Parker.”_

“Sorry, your honor,” he said, a bit too proud when his voice didn’t crack under the weight.

_“If that’s how you plead, I’ll make the rest of our day very short. I deny you bail by the severity of your crimes, and you will be held in the Greenwich Mutant Holding Facility while you await your trial-”_

Foggy tented his fingers together. “Actually, your honor-”

_“Mr. Nelson, did I permit you to speak?”_

“Um, no, but I figured I’d get in a word before you totally slammed the door on us.”

 _“And I don’t give a damn.”_ With his own hands pulled onto the desk in front of him, the judge sat up straighter and stared directly into the camera. _“You have decided to take on this absolute train wreck of a case for God knows what reason, and through that you have lost any and all respect any judge in New York had for you and any chance of respect any judge in the world may have had. Expect no leniencies for your services and the good you’ve done for this city, as none of them remotely make up for this personal attack you’ve committed on all of this state. By taking up this criminal, you’ve done nothing but twist the knife he’s planted in our backs.”_

“Judge Burkhardt,” Matt said, now drawing attention to himself, “you were the judge that oversaw another one of our super cases. The mutant girl who was being accused of that building fire. She went through that even when her school had her on tape entering her _fifth grade classroom._ Do you remember that?”

The judge shifted. _“I do.”_

“You were ready to throw the book at her, weren’t you?”

_“Mr. Murdock, I hope you’re not trying to imply that I decided the outcome of any case before it’s even in front of to me.”_

“Then what are you doing now?”

The prosecution lawyer, a shrewd looking man with a long, pointed jaw, scoffed.

_“Are you asking for preferential treatment, Mr. Murdock? For simply doing your job and ensuring an innocent didn’t end up in incarceration for a crime she couldn’t have committed?”_

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m asking for Judge Burkhardt to not make a split decision based on outside pressures and public opinion. I’m asking for trust.”

 _“You want me to trust_ Spiderman!? _After everything he’s done?”_

“We’re not requesting bail, your honor,” Foggy insisted. “We are only asking that our client remain out of mutant detention centers, where you _know_ he’ll come face to face with more than a few familiar faces considering how many of New York’s worst and dullest he’s put away. Especially considering there’s no evidence to suggest he has the x-gene.”

 _“And where else would you suggest we put him?”_ the prosecution asked.

Foggy’s shoulders broadened as he gestured to Peter. “If we could, we’d like to see Mr. Parker put on house arrest.”

Judge Burkhardt sneered.

Before he could even say anything, however, the prosecution barked with laughter. _“Your honor, to let such a flight risk out on house arrest is-”_

“Your honor,” Matt cut in, “there is no evidence to suggest our client- who turned himself in, may I remind you- is any way a flight risk. Even if he did manage to get out of whatever location you saw fit to send him to, every airport in the world knows his name.”

_“He wouldn’t need to fly to get out of the country!”_

“This isn’t a case like Captain America’s where half of the world didn’t care. No country would simply let him in, and there are no government branches willing to extend help. What’s left of any super organization has shut its doors on Peter Parker, SHIELD included.”

The prosecution still smiled. _“And what if he were to just drive off? Escape to some distant part of the country where no one could find him?”_

Lowering himself to the table, as if to stage whisper through the mic, Foggy said, “Our client doesn’t know how to drive. He doesn’t even have his _permit_ yet.”

The judge’s attention piqued at that, his hand raised to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he seemed to really focus for the first time on the people lined up at the table on his screen. He was examining Peter carefully.

Returning his hands to his desk, he let out a sigh.

_“He has no priors?”_

“Not a one,” Foggy said. “Your honor, even if we weren’t going to waive our right to a fast trial, you know this process is going to be slow. Not just because of the crimes our client is being accused of or the press surrounding it, but because it’s unprecedented.

“Any of the plans drawn up in the Sokovian accords are shot now that SWORD and SHIELD have been carved out from the inside and the World Security Council has been all but officially terminated. The UN is _scrambling_ to find a proper way to just _try_ our client, and we’d like for him to not die in what could be over half a year of waiting. Not to mention, if there’s any part of you that believes our client is innocent, you should also want to see him be able to continue his education in a similarly safe environment. Both he and his legal guardian,” May went to wave only to pull her hand back down when Foggy continued, “have agreed to stay in a court mandated safe house for their own protection as well as the sanity of those you would rather protect from who is, at the end of the day, a teenage boy.”

When Burkhardt turned his eyes to his desk, hands now clenched together so tightly that it looked as though they might bruise.

Seeing that his job wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought it would be, the prosecution snapped out of his chair. Head out of frame, he barked, _“Your honor, you can’t-”_

 _“I can do what I please on my case,”_ Burkhardt snapped before mumbling, _“while it is my case. And while what I_ don’t _want to do is show preferential treatment towards lawyers I’ve worked with before… I also can’t let myself be harder on a defendant I should be showing the benefit of the doubt._

 _“I’ll grant you your safe house, though I’ll still need to work with you all and the local police and governments to ensure everything is up to code.”_ He scoffed. _“And just so we’re clear, young man, I don’t believe in ‘heroes.’ I may have learned that not all of you are freaks, but those of you who choose to work outside the law- you supers with_ and _without the accords- vigilantes are vigilantes. Pray that should this case slip from me, it finds a judge more open towards your preferred profession.”_

Peter nodded. “Thank you, s- your- your honor. Thank you, your honor.”

_“And get a drink of water before you choke on your own tongue.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now we're gonna get less court proceedings and more character/plot development. Oh, and this is a super hero fanfic so expect some fight scenes coming up.


	3. Chapter 3

Even with super strength, Peter found it strange to walk around with the uneven weight of his ankle monitor. The noise it made when it met with the wall made him shudder, pulling his legs down entirely from where he’d previously had them propped up there.

This was his summer vacation.

Granted, he knew he had it really good all things considered. Fury hadn’t even attempted to contain his shock at the deal they’d landed. Instead of probably getting the snot beaten out of him daily in a mutant prison- “detention center” nothing, that was only a title to avoid breaking the law by placing mutants awaiting trial in a prison- he was set up to live in a two story building in a place he wasn’t quite sure of. It looked like a place right out of a timeshare catalogue, or one of those get away homes a richer, bigger family might get for their annual week out.

It was strange, with its lace curtains, stiff bedsheets, and the doilies May swore they were allowed to move off of the couch so that they could sit more comfortably but never did. It wasn’t home by any stretch, but it was safe, and they were together.

All of it was thanks to his lawyers, of course.

His lawyers.

It still felt weird to think about in those terms.

They’d both already done so much for him at this point, but he knew there was still a long way to go. There had been a lot of meetings after the arraignment, something he wasn’t really used to. Even when it came to filling out the documentation for the accords, Tony had handled most of that. The few he had been to were a lot like his IEP meetings in middle school or meetings with his counselor and his aunt after his parents died.

He’d just been there.

But Matt and Foggy had brought him in from the beginning. The former had asked him multiple times if he understood certain terms while the latter made sure he wasn’t being talked over in discussions about what very well could be his future.

This was a big deal, and both of them made sure he didn’t forget that while also making it more manageable.

He’d told as much to Ned, who he was free to make phone calls to so long as he didn’t state his location- which again, he didn’t even know the details of, not being allowed outside of this house he’d been transported to all but blindfolded- and Matt had been the one to advise in a hushed tone not even meant for Foggy to hear that they were probably being recorded, so it might be best to keep any involvement his friends had with his “activities” out of potential conversations.

The phone rang as if the universe had heard his thoughts, springing him backwards out of bed to land on his feet.

No sooner did it reach his ear did he say, “Hey!”

_ “Hey, Pete,”  _ Ned said.

“Thanks for calling man, things are so boring around here.”

_ “No problem, man. Just our scheduled session while you’re still on lock down. Hey like, do they still not let you out of the house?” _

“Not even the yard,” Peter said. “May said we might get TV tomorrow, though.”

_ “Sucks that you couldn’t get arrested during finals week or something. Summer vacation on lock down… is it better than web-slinging?” _

“I’ll be honest,” Peter slumped down against the bed, “I’d take a thousand headbuts from the Rhino right now if it got me out of here.”

_ “Well what about the house?” _

“I can’t tell you anything about-”

_ “Not where it  _ is, _ not that it would even help either of us. I mean, did you try looking around? Might be some old books or a radio or something sitting around. It must be nice having a house, though. I think you’re the only kid in our class that’ll know what that feels like long-term. Except for Flash, but you already knew I meant that, right?” _

“You wouldn’t happen to have heard from him, have you?” Peter asked, a smile creeping into his tone.

_ “Hear what? Something  _ other  _ than his ‘Fall of Spiderman’ monologues on Instagram Live?” _

A crow nearly broke out of Peter’s throat. His hand clenching around the phone, he managed to reduce it to a cuffed laugh so as not to alert the patrol car parked at the end of their driveway with what they might think is a scream.

“Am I like, a terrible, self-loathing person for  _ wanting  _ him to say that I ruined Spiderman for him?”

_ “Oh, dude, no.”  _ A chuckle crackled over the line.  _ “The ‘Fall of Spiderman’ isn’t like- a scare piece or a documentary on how terrible you are- it’s about how you’re gonna come out of this.” _

Peter’s shoulders fell as he pulled one of his legs under him and curled in on himself.

_ “Yeah,”  _ Ned went on, unprompted,  _ “it’s like this hole thing about how your fall isn’t deserved and that you're a martyr for heroes everywhere. He doesn’t still like Spiderman, he like- took you and him to God status. Well, until his account got taken down.” _

“What? Like- Instagram took it down?”

_ “Dunno, maybe? Think the government’s  _ that  _ invested in keeping you down?” _

“Ned, I don’t know what to think anymore,” he said, running a hand over his hair. “I mean, all of this stuff with Beck, and SHIELD, and ‘Murdock and Nelson-’”

_ “‘Nelson and Murdock.’ I looked them up the last time you talked about them because yeah, if they are super famous lawyers famous for defending super  _ heroes  _ then why haven’t we heard of them? Well, I guess we just don’t know much about lawyers or as much as we do about heroes- kind of makes you wonder who all of the little people are in stories like this? Like, think about it like this: If I was a SHIELD agent, and I helped you out as Spiderman-”  _ remembering the possibility of police surveillance, he loudly added,  _ “hypothetically- and you know, I was doing all of this hypothetical stuff for you, then no one would even know I existed even though I’d be like- half of what made ‘Spiderman’  _ Spiderman.  _ You know?” _

Peter blinked, a smile slowly rising on his face. “Hypothetically?”

_ “Oh yeah, hypothetically.” _

“So what’d you find out about the lawyers?”

_ “Right right- so these guys are really big names in New York if you read the actual news and don’t just skim for the big stuff- like even if you actually read the little stuff about the big stuff, you’re gonna find their names there.” _

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

_ “It means that  _ they  _ were the lawyers that went up against and took down the Kingpin.” _

Now that was a name Peter recognized as soon as he’d heard it. The “Kingpin of Crime” was a big name in all of New York. Though his roots were firmly planted in the depths of Hell’s Kitchen, his reach extended all over the state in the form of contacts and “favors” he asked of the villains that grew and thrived like barnacles on the underside of a world where apparently super powers were becoming a lot less super and a lot more common.

_ “They also defended the Punisher.” _

“The  _ Punisher?” _ Peter spat “Are you sure?”

_ “Yeah. I mean, they didn’t keep him out of jail, but they did that. Maybe he was actually innocent, like you?” _

Peter swallowed, remembering how angry Aunt May had been during that whole trial. Outside of his involvement with other heroe at the time, it was really his only connection to it. She’d been pacing the living room almost every time news came out, yelling out, “Can you believe this!?” and explaining the worst of the new information. What stuck out most presently is that Frank Castle had  _ confessed _ to the crimes he was being accused of.

That experience had Peter convinced for the longest time that his aunt would hate vigilantes forever.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said anyway as he picked at the corner of his bedsheet.

He really couldn’t deal with the idea that “Nelson and Murdock” had knowingly represented a mass murderer. Worse- that they may have  _ unknowingly done so. _

The implications of that were finely dodged when he asked, “So, any big plans coming up?”

Peter had expected the answer to be the same as the last time, only for Ned to hit him with,  _ “Actually, MJ and I are hanging out tomorrow.” _

“You-! Oh, oh yeah, MJ,” Peter laughed. “That’s good. You know, that’s good. How’s she doing?”

_ “You would know if you let me give her your number.” _

Peter gasped perhaps a bit too loudly. “Ah- Ned- I, I’m just waiting to call her on my own. You know how busy she is, you know, I don’t want to bother her!”

_ “More like you don’t know how to call the girl you left in the middle of a cross walk to fend for herself while you ran away to SHIELD without telling her anything.” _

“How did  _ you _ know that!?”

_ “MJ  _ told _ me? You’re not the only one I talk to, you know. Definitely not the only guy who knows you’re spiderman, either.”  _ Ned let out a sigh, but ultimately left behind the self-pity as he added,  _ “You should really call her, Pete. She’s not mad, she just wants to know what’s going on, and I don’t know how much I can tell her about your defense case stuff, since I’m trying to be a good secret sidekick and not spill your business. Also, I’m not great at retelling stories.” _

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at that, even as it faded into a tired sigh and his eyes scanned the room.

“I know she’ll believe me,” he said. “I know she, of all people, knows what Beck did because he’s the one who helped me figure it all out, but I still can’t… I can’t talk to MJ right now, Ned. I can’t do that.”

His friend responded,  _ “I know, man,” _ though exasperation weighed his voice down too much for it to be genuine.  _ “Well, I gotta cut it short tonight. Got stuff I gotta get done.” _

Peter rolled his eyes. “Are you seriously dumping me to play League when I have  _ literally _ nothing else to do?”

_ “Tch, I wish. Nah, it’s just complicated.” _

His thumb already on the button to hang up, Peter stilled when a pulse behind his head brought him to pause. “Wait, you… are you taking summer classes?”

_ “Uh, no?” _

“Then why did you use your ‘I really wish I didn’t have to do homework’ voice?”

_ “What!? No, I do not have a voice for that! You’re just making stuff up!” _

“You have homework over the summer? What is it?”

Ned sighed and shook his head.  _ “I knew you forgot about it, so I just wasn’t gonna bring it up.” _

Peter looked forward, awaited a response, and merely scanned the room with his eyes. Ultimately, Ned didn’t need to talk, as he came to the realization with a gasp. “Ugh- the reading list! I completely forgot about that!”

_ “Yeah, you see, I wasn’t going to mention it because you have so much going on and-” _

“Ned, I appreciate it,” he started, “but I still have to do it.”

_ “It’s only July, and you said you probably wouldn’t even go on trial until January, it’s not like I’m telling you last minute. I just wanted you to relax a bit.” _

Unable to respond past a hollow objection, Peter released his frustrations with a sigh. “I guess you’re right. I think the reading list is still in my bookbag.”

“You were able to pick that up?”

“Yeah, I just shoved a bunch of clothes into it.” He wound tighter on himself, debating if he should add in the part where the guard watching them pack up hat little of their live they could bring had dumped out the main pocket of his bag onto the driveway. He decided against it when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. “Alright, well have fun with  _ your _ paper. Good night, Ned.”

“Night, Peter!”

As soon as he’d hung up, Peter was pulling the door open to reveal May.

“Hey, Pete,” she said, a wide smile on her face, “I have a surprise for you downstairs.”

He rolled his shoulders upward from where his hands held either side of the doorframe.

“A surprise?”

“Just come on,” she said, livelier than he’d seen her since they’d gotten to this stupid house as she pulled him down the hall by one hand.

He moved after her, more than a bit confused when they reached the middle of the stairs and he saw a familiar face he wasn’t exactly too excited by. It was more like a familiar person, as Foggy was still turned away from them.

Then, as they neared the bottom-

“Good to see you, kid!”

He shot up straight as his eyes locked onto where the voice had come from- that being in the opposite direction of where Foggy had been looking- to see Happy, grinning with both of his hands in his pockets as he paced across the floor.

“Been a minute, huh?”

Peter, having immediately relaxed, surged forward to share a quick hug with Happy that ended in a firm handshake as they pulled away. 

Behind where Happy had been standing, Peter hadn’t noticed Matt was now standing there. He watched quietly, only tilting his head to the side as if he could see that Peter was looking at him. It was as if he’d been one with the shadows while Peter hadn’t been looking directly at him.

“He’s here on official, Stark business,” Matt said, and Peter could almost feel the implied wink and nudge in his tone.

“That’s right,” Happy said with a laugh as he patted him on the shoulder and moved to stand by May. “I’m a ‘key witness.’ That, and my previous work as a security guard, means I get to come and visit you guys on the rarest of occasions, which is basically every other week.”

“Happy, that’s awesome!” Peter said.

“Yeah, and that’s not the end of it- I still have May’s key, so I can grab stuff from the apartment if you left something important behind.” His eyes flicked up to where Matt stood for a moment before again settling on Peter. “And uh, if you need anything else?”

“Anything else?” Peter asked, confused for a moment before he realized- “I, uh, do need to get two books for an over the summer required reading thing.”

May pushed forward, “Um, excuse me, why is this the first time I’m hearing about an assignment?”

Recognizing that she wasn’t angry as much as she was amusedly scolding him, Peter grinned back and crossed his arms. “Why is this the first time  _ I’m  _ hearing about Happy having a  _ key?” _

Foggy laughed at that, drawing attention back to himself just as he gained the decency to muffle the noise into the back of his wrist.

“Alright, alright.” May clapped her hands together twice. “Let’s get this case stuff out of the way so that we can settle down. You two staying for dinner?”

“Oh, no thank you, ma’am,” Foggy said. 

Matt took a half-step toward them and added, “We have an office dinner planned.”

“Ooh, a big get-together?” May asked as she made her way to the breakfast nook on the edge of the tiny kitchen to flick on the light.

Foggy made a face and almost winced. “Eah- No, not really uh- it’s just kind of the two of us and Karen.” 

Matt nodded. “She’s our secretary”

“Back-bone of our firm, really. She’s great, you’ll probably get to meet her if you ever come down to the office.”

“Until then, though,” Matt turned around and flicked his cane along the floor, head flicking toward the couch almost as soon as the little tap echoed through the air. He struck the ground again and picked up the briefcase he’d left there to cross back in the direction of May’s voice. “We have work to do.”

With noticeably less excitement than his partner, Foggy sighed. “Yeah, we do.”

* * *

It was later into the night, only around eight, when it was agreed that the three visitors had to get going and Peter realized that this was the first time he’d seen someone other than his aunt and the guards posted outside of his house- who he only got a look at through the glass- in the week they’d spent there. Still, in their time apart, Matt and Foggy didn’t have much in the way of new information to bring to the table. Anything that they had to say was boiled down to “things Peter knew, but now they’re from a different angle,” which Peter knew would be important to people who weren’t there.

That knowledge didn’t make him any happier to hear it over again.

When they were leaving, Peter shook Happy’s hand as well as Matt’s and Foggy’s. May only hugged Happy good bye, of course, and Peter thanked every God he could think of that they didn’t kiss in front of him, the lawyers, or the guard.

The guard?

A pulse went through his head as Matt’s hand slipped from his own, and he focused on the lone guard escorting the trio from the building.

“Aren’t there usually more of you?” Peter asked

“Not that it’s any of your business,” the officer said, “but the guys got called uptown. Dunno why, but they probably won’t even make it up there in enough time to beat the next shift from getting  _ here. _ So it’s just me tonight, Spidermenace. Don’t think that’ll make anything easier on you.”

Peter dipped his head at the nickname, eyes falling instead to the guard’s feet as another pulse washed over him. This time, he knew it was his spider sense- not “Peter Tingle-” spider sense was way cooler, and MJ was even cooler for coming up with it, but he already knew that. It beckoned him to turn around, but before he could, he was steered back ahead by Matt’s arm wrapping around his shoulders.

“Sir, I hope you’re not trying to intimidate our client,” he said.

Foggy hissed through his teeth and jammed his hands into his pockets. “That would be a stupid thing to do right in front of his lawyers and two witnesses, one of which is scheduled to appear in court already.”

The guard looked unimpressed, but ultimately rolled his eyes and turned around, simply gesturing for them to follow without any other smart comments.

Matt turned toward Peter, which the younger knew had to be for his own benefit and no one else's, before squeezing once around his shoulders in a gesture he was sure was meant to be comforting. Then he was using his cane to find either end of the doorway and trailing after Foggy to the car awaiting them.

Again, Peter and May were alone with themselves in the strange house that wasn’t home.

May had asked if he was hungry, but without even Happy around, Peter really wasn’t interested in eating. Instead he said he’d had a big lunch, which was pretty true considering he hadn’t done anything all day, and went upstairs. At the top of hte stairs, though, his eyes were drawn to something he hadn’t really paid attention to in the tiny hall.

While the house was two rooms- the bottom consisted of a living room entrance, a tiny kitchen with a table and chairs on the edge, and an office stored in the back with a dead TV. That meant both bedrooms and the only bathroom was upstairs. May was staying in the one Peter had quietly determined was the larger of the two when he was allowed first pick, and in front of it was a door built into the ceiling meant, the hook in front of it meant for someone to hang a rope the door didn’t have. This would be a shame, as someone with a chair or a step stool would have a hard time getting it open.

Peter, of course, didn’t need anything of the sort, already scaling the wall and then the ceiling to drop open the hatch. It was also missing a ladder, which had probably rotted out of the pegs meant to hold it some time ago. Peter ignored that and pulled himself through the hole.

The attic was as cramped as he’d expected it to be with about six feet between the ceiling and the floor in the tallest parts and easily only four feet around the edges of the room. Nothing seemed to be stored there, though the faint moonlight did shine down a circular window at the back of the space to reveal a tiny box about the size of Peter’s hand that he found to be extremely out of place in what was otherwise an empty room.

He neared it cautiously, leaning entirely on his spider sense and tensing his legs with every step should he need to jump back at the last minute, until he reached it to find that it was just a hand radio.

A strange, almost familiar hand radio.

His eyes narrowed at the device before widening as he realized he was looking at a police scanner.

In the next instant, he was on his knees, pouring over the device. This was illegal in New York, but was he even in New York? He could be in New Jersey or even DC for all he knew.

Distantly, he knew that was a flimsy justification for what he was about to do because it wasn’t just a random police radio in the attic of his safe house. 

It turned on.

It had working batteries.

That set off a handful of red flags, and Peter opened his voice to call over his shoulder to May. He really should hand this off to the guard outside and say that the renters or previous owners or whoever owned the tiny house before they got to it must have left it behind.

Then he considered that his prints were already all over it and that the guard outside didn’t like him very much. There was also the fact that Happy had just been here, and he didn’t want him to possibly get into trouble if someone were to believe that Happy had brought Spiderman a surveillance device that was illegal for citizens to have.

Again, that raised the question of whether or not he was authorized to use this scanner. He was, after all, a superhero, even if that title was now in contention.

He wet his lips and again considered running the scanner downstairs.

So focused on the ethics of holding it in his hand, he’d forgotten it was on until it crackled to life at almost full volume, at which point he tossed it into the air and fumbled for it to crank it all the way back down.

_ “All units to Dock 14- Dock 14 in the South Bronx area, anywhere you can get sight of Ryker’s Island…” _

The dispatcher’s voice faded out as Peter turned the knob, though he immediately turned it back up to a much lower volume at hearing the location.

Ryker’s Island- a detention center for super powered individuals- wasn’t a Mutant facility. It was a formal prison for those who would put other, normal prisoners at risk in any other facility.

It’s where the Vulture had ended up.

_ “... have escaped, suspects are to be considered armed and dangerous. I repeat, two convicts to be considered armed and dangerous have fled the facility. There are numerous reports of gang activity along the costs in the Bronx/Queens area surrounding the island. It is advised that any lone officer wait for backup. I will repeat that: Wait for backup. No lone officer is meant to confront either of the fugitives, nor the mass of gangs seemingly flooding the area. A shelter-in-place order has been put out in the area surrounding the island, any lone officers without company are to urge citizens to stay in doors-” _

Peter switched off the radio and took a deep breath, leaving it on the floor where he’d found it before bounding over to the still-open attic door and dropping down right in front of May, who’d just been coming up the stairs.

“Oh!” she yelped, almost falling back only to catch herself on the railing with the hand not holding a mug of tea and curl back onto her feet in laughter. “You, you scared me!” she chuckled breathlessly. “What’s up? Still not hungry?”

He had to work to swallow the lump in his throat before he could say, “Uh, no, not hungry just- just gonna get some sleep! I’ve barely slept this week, so I… I better do that.”

May didn’t look convinced. Her brow furrowed as she stepped toward him to take his chin into her hand. It was an almost painful grip as she turned his head up to look her in the eye. Satisfied, and with a sad smile, she pulled him into a one-armed hug and leaned up to press a kiss to his forehead before handing him the mug.

“Get some rest,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder and disappearing into her room.

As her door closed, Peter called out a weak, “You, too,” which got her to smile before the door was shut.

Then it was a flurry of movement back into his room, Peter immediately moving to the wooden desk built into the wall- the only furniture in the room other than the bed and the grey tote on the side where he was to store his clothes. He knew the desk was entirely empty, as he’d gone through it earlier, but he’d felt something along the crack of one of the drawers. It hadn’t been important enough to dig out at the time but if he could-

_ Yes. _

He dug it out with his nail, producing a stray paperclip.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy by any means, but if he could just get the GPS to stick to the house, he’d be home free. It had been a problem with earlier simulations of his spider suit’s GPS functions. The current could get disrupted and stick to whatever location he’d intended the simulation to start in. The thing about fixing a problem in a simulation over and over again, however, is that you don’t see a hundred ways to  _ fix _ that problem. You just see a hundred ways it can be caused.

One such way was a steel and plastic alloy being put too close to the censor when he bent his knee. It was just enough to pull it off track but not enough to trigger the suit’s magnetic sensor for an errant piece of metal being stuck in an impromptu location.

This in mind, he hiked up the leg of his pants and rested on the bed, taking the paper clip in his teeth to bend it open. Rather than just a plain, steel paper clip, it was important that this one was coated in plastic. This meant he had to be careful as he whittled away the end of the plastic to get at the metal core so as not to take off the entire sleeve. The plastic covered portion would be to get the job done, but he’d need the metal portion to get inside.

Peter had gotten very good at knowing his own strength. It wasn’t easy to just flip between enough strength to toss a ball down from a rooftop to the neighborhood kids who’d gotten it stuck up there in the first place and the strength needed to keep a car from crushing him, after all. This meant when he pulled the plastic shell away from the device to expose its shiny metal innards, he knew just how much strength he needed to convince the pressure censors everything was fine.

In his free hand, he held one end of the paperclip between his middle and pointer finger and the other between his ring and pinky finger respectively and jabbed his thumb at the place where they met to break off the exposed metal end cleanly.

Part of him wished he could break a steel beam that precisely, the rest was really glad that had worked on the first try in the pliable metal no doubt already hot from his sweaty hands.

It was at this stage he considered what he was really doing here.

Could he seriously pull this off? It wasn’t as though he had his spider suit, not that it would be very useful in this situation. He didn’t even have his web shooters, nor the chemicals to make up the compound on the spot.

Still, if he was right and one of those fugitives was the vulture, he had no choice but to help.

So he got back to work and wracked his brain for anything else he might need to fool this stupid ankle monitor and save the city. Maybe that night could be his brand of normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put myself on an FBI watchlist researching for this story, please show some respect. /j


	4. Chapter 4

Like the guard had said, the others weren’t back by the time Peter made it out of the house and over the fence into the next yard. If it could be called a yard, that is. It was more like a long strip of land behind the house to store the trash cans. He jumped back to the edge of the property when his spider sense went off, eyes catching a red light hidden under the shrubs of the neighbor’s backyard. It was probably a motion sensor connected to a camera or a light. Either way, it’d be bad if he’d crossed in its path. He steeled himself as he scaled the next wall, shuffling over the spines of fence posts until he made it to a street corner.

This was the Bronx, then, and he wasn’t too far from the city.

That being said, Toomes wasn’t stupid. If he was one of the fugitives- and Peter was sure he was- he wouldn’t go to a proper dock where the police were gathered. Then there was the trouble with the gangs circling the area.

He had no hope of getting across the water, however, so he’d still have to stick to the Bronx side, find another place shallow enough to dock, and hope he got it right before the Vulture got too far.

As it was, he still had to find his way out of the suburbs.

He hopped onto the sidewalk and took off in the direction of a light post, which he ultimately passed realizing people would see him way too quickly on a quiet night like this. Instead, he targeted an old church that stuck out over the heads of the houses it lorded over. It was a tall, dark building with boarded up doors, so he knew that no one would be able to see him. He wouldn’t be surprised that, if anyone did see him, they’d assume it was some teen messing around in an abandoned building and he’d just be in and out before any police pulled themselves away from the shore, anyway.

From his perch on top of the building, he could recognize the edge of the city and knew how to follow it inward to the docks.

He just hoped he wouldn’t take too long without webs to swing from.

The hop down from the church was the first step. Next he was running as fast as he could toward the area where suburb met the true heart of the city, houses blending into buildings as homes grew closer and closer until it was like strips of rundown apartments and homes shared by two or even three families to a space.

It was hard for Peter to think that he’d been so close to home this whole time, yet he’d felt so out of place.

Now he was in his element. His brand of normal, indeed. Scaling the first building was a chore and he’d have to remind himself in six months or whenever the trial was over to disassemble and then lovingly polish every part of his web shooters because he had never appreciated them enough.

Even after all of his time flying through the New York skies, Peter couldn’t say it was easy to take the first few running leaps over the true alleyes that were now cut at least six stories deep between buildings. The wind rushing in his ears felt different at his own momentum, and each landing felt rougher than the last.

He was already breathing hard, and there was a moment of panic where he thought he might have an asthma attack in the middle of his crusade.

All of that was worth it when he was hit with his first breath of the sea washing over him from the East River. He’d made it to the shore.

It was hard not to grin wildly behind the old beanie he’d cut eyeholes into, which suffocated him with its heat on a summer night in New York and two sweaters and the sweatpants he’d pulled on over his jeans to try and hide his build.

Maybe he’d gotten too good at that over the years.

Of course, hiding his build wouldn’t be necessary as long as no one saw him. That was the main priority right then, and he was reminded of it when he came across his first police roadblock.

The flashing lights lit up the road, and he could hear the crackled voice of a megaphone telling the people lining up next to the temporary fences around the cars to go inside.

Not recognizing the irony, Peter wished people wouldn’t be so attracted to danger. It’d be easier to not get distracted while taking his next leap of faith if he didn’t have to worry about someone on the ground snapping a picture.

Ease returned to the mission when he made it past the docks and a bit up north. From the rooftops, he could see where the coast dipped and ebbed just past the buildings, but he couldn’t see anywhere he’d personally land a liferaft with two fugitives, had he been in that situation.

It was a good thing he was only a fugitive on foot.

In the dark of the harbor- anyone who worked there having been pulled out by the shelter order- was broken up by a horizontal bar of light cutting through the buildings. Peter had to get closer due to it being so low to the ground. It was a squat building that was half in the ground, the light coming from three, long windows on the same side. A warehouse on a wide lot of scrap metal.

It wasn’t Toomes’ company, but a scrap man turned arms dealer _would_ know where to get the cheapest parts he hadn’t been able to retrieve.

Peter went over the edge of the building and realized for the first time he didn’t like climbing _down_ while facing forward after doing it for a while. It felt like the building was giving out underneath him, or that the cilia on his hands weren’t able to get a good grip when they were facing the other way.

He had to jump down a bit higher than he was comfortable, but stuck the landing anyway and hurriedly jogged across the street to hop the final fence into the scrapyard.

There he stalked the edges of the building, noting that on the adjacent side, the gates to the property were wide open and a herd of motorcycles were lined up in the back.

He swallowed, knowing that this was one of the gangs mentioned in the scanner. If Toomes had somehow gotten money to these groups- though it would probably take more money than he had to get so many on board with each other. That was assuming this wasn’t some strange coincidence. Still, Peter had placed his bet here. He could at least look around before giving up.

So he stalked toward the building and found a groove to easily heave himself up so that he wouldn’t have to crawl so far. His legs were killing him at that point, heavy and almost numb in the parts where they weren’t screaming. Not for the last time that night, he realized how lucky he’d been to have his web shooters.

When he reached the lip of the window sill, he took a moment to use one hand to pull his improved ski mask down a bit further, allowing him a bit more room around his eyes to properly peer into the warehouse.

Inside, past the grimy windows, he saw a group of men gathered around various tables, only one of which was an actual table. The rest where various crates and tubs turned upside down for them to prop their legs up and play cards on. They were laughing and joking around, and th ough Peter couldn’t see much more past the grime and the tall shelves that lined the building, he considered leaving them to find another place to wait out the Vulture. Then the flashing lights in the corner of his vision to move. 

When he looked over his shoulder, a pair of police cars slowly coasting toward the building came into view. At the last minute, he spotted a slat in the window a bit higher up. Knowing he’d have no purchase on the glass, he moved over and shimmied up the column of bricks separating the windows so that he could slip inside.

Oddly enough, he felt more comfortable hanging from the ceiling. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was free to hang rather than flexing his body to support himself against the building. Either way, he was free to stretch his limbs a bit before moving across the ceiling to find a darker spot away from the windows.

Now over the shelves, he was very glad he’d been pushed to climb inside. Past the men absently playing poker over empty crates, there was a large van, its back doors open with another man lounging so that his legs could dangle over the edge.

Past him, Peter could see various shapes, one of which looked suspiciously like a person standing underneath a white tarp.

He leaned toward the shape, as if trying to see through the fabric, only to shoot back and press himself against the ceiling at the shout of, “Hey!”

The large man entering the room, his shoulders and face decorated in tattoos that Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to know the stories behind.

He looked over the room before he continued to bellow, “Let’s get moving! We don’t have all night, just until those cops find their guys at the docks.”

So they weren’t connected to Toomes, then. So why would they be here?

“Boss wanted this stuff out tonight.”

“I don’t think I like not knowing the details of why we’re out here,” one of the guys said, his arm slung over the back of his chair. He was one of the few not relegated to the makeshift benches and turned over boxes and had almost as much ink as the previous man. “Picking up a fancy suit like that and fencing it to some rich creep paying us in a direct deposit of all things seems like some super villain shit. I thought we left dealing with magical hoodoo and the like to the crazies on the east side.”

“What’d be crazy is turning down this job,” the supposed leader shot back. “We’ve all been in kind of a slump ever since Spiderman came to town. Something simple and big like this is just what we need to get back on our feet.”

“‘A slump,’” another voice scoffed. “It was a lot worse than a ‘slump.’ Spiderman _ruined_ us!”

“And this job is our way of getting back on top. So let’s not ruin it with waiting around all night, and _get back to work.”_

The group cheered a bit too enthusiastically for how slowly they moved to get back to work.

Peter thought they might be interrupted by the police and that he could find a way to slowly slink out of the place, unnoticed by the gang below. Then he could find wherever the fugitives were actually going to come ashore. Then he realized the cop cars who’d driven by the place had to have seen the light of the building from the road, just as Peter had seen it from above.

Why weren’t their sirens wailing? At the very least, shouldn’t they be making sure this warehouse was empty of any civilians who might have thought to shelter right in the line of fire of where the Vulture could be landing?

His train of thought was completely derailed when the lights flicked off, a distant whir of a generator dropping off the only thing to signal that it wasn’t entirely organic or incidental.

The men in the middle of the room let out confused noises as they looked to one another. Some went to the door, the leader barking orders to check the circuit breaker.

Two of them peeled it open to let in a stream of moonlight that was only impeded by one, lone figure casting a shadow through the open doorway.

In his hands was a long rifle that the very sight of made Peter very much regret having come out that night. That was before he even noticed the white skull emblazoned on the man’s vest.

A few of the men yelled and others moved to grab whatever they could, either as weapons or to hide behind.

“Shut up,” the Punisher said, not quite yelling as he slowly paced into the building. “Any other night, I’d waste the lot of you. Lucky for you, I’m not here for your worthless lives.”

“Heard you’d gone soft,” the leader said, the only one to have not shown any sign of losing his composure. “Don’t know if the rest of you are in on this, but the word is that the Punisher hasn’t been punishing like he used to. Blood’s not running, heads aren’t rolling… have you been okay?”

A few members of the group laughed, though the noticeably loud few were definitely farther from Castle.

He strode up to the leader with the same cool, confident posture. Peter couldn’t tell at first from how he was standing, but as the Punisher turned to better face the man, he could see his finger wasn’t on the trigger of his gun.

Almost bored, he asked, “What’s in the truck?”

The leader smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

That earned him the back of the Punisher’s rifle slamming against his temple, sending him stumbling back only for a pair of the guys behind him to rush forward. Frank met them with the side of his rifle, though he couldn’t turn around to face the guy who’d previously been sitting in the truck, now behind him with a raised piece of metal poised to stab into the Punisher’s back.

Peter was the one to prevent that, dropping down with his feet on the guy’s shoulders and slamming him into the floor before harm could come to him.

“Who the Hell-!?” one voice yelled.

“What super is that?” another asked.

Most of them didn’t bother asking questions, some of them rushing forward to take down either Peter or the Punisher. He swept the legs out from under two of them as they approached only for one of them to grab his arm and hold him in place while another made to punch him.

Castle apparently had swung the pair holding his gun to the ground and again whipped the butt of it against the guy’s head before he could get too close.

“Focus, kid!”

The order brought him out of his fog long enough to shake off the guy holding his arm.

Then he was spinning forward, his foot coming down on the side of another man’s head and knocking him out just as Peter landed over him in a half-slide.

His spider sense warned him to duck down just in time to avoid a bullet, though the bullet was obviously meant for the leg of the guy he hadn’t noticed standing behind him. Instead of hitting him with the piece of wood in his fist, the guy fell to the ground with a scream as his hands clamped around his leg.

Peter went to exchange a look with his fellow vigilante, only to see that the Punisher had already moved onto his next target.

And the next.

Another leg, then an arm- non-fatal shots. Still, Peter didn’t like the ring of gunfire in his ears. It was too different but also too familiar.

There wasn’t much time to remember his time being swallowed by the hail of guns around him, having to flip backwards to avoid hands reaching out of the near-absolute darkness before they could draw him into a fight face-to-face. He didn’t want to have to use his strength more than he had to, lest anyone here figure out his secret identity.

Er- _secret_ secret identity.

Tonight, he was a nameless, masked vigilante making a silent debut. Spiderman could be saved for a better time in the sun when he wasn’t supposed to be on lock down.

He dodged an arm cutting in front of him by flipping over it and sticking to one of the shelves. Up there, he noticed a rope tied to the top of it. It was probably meant to be tied to the other side of the shelf as well in place of a railing to keep things stored up there from falling. Peter had a better idea for it, and he put it into motion by jumping down back over the man with the rope in hand and pulling the shelf sideways.

The guy he’d gone over had long moved out of the way and no one else was in the place of impact. It did divide the room up a little and the clatter of boxes and shapes was plenty for him to blend into when he decided to utilize the darkness and slink along the ground.

From there, he leapt up and dragged members down to the ground only to dive back into the shadows once he’d caught their notice. Part of him was brought back to the attack in London. It was hard not to go there mentally. The fight in the dark was as good as closing his eyes, and the reliance on his spider sense was greater than anything he’d done since that fight, though he’d definitely been trying to lean into it more and better trust his instincts.

That minimal exercise was being put to the test that night.

The open doorway only allowed so much light to seep in, and Peter stuck to the darker half where almost all of the figures were blotted out in large, unreadable shapes. If he was navigating by site alone, it’d be hard to distinguish one of the men from a pile of boxes or one of the crates scattered around the floor.

It seemed he had it much better, even suppressing a chuckle when he heard one man gag and cry out “Joey- Joey it’s _me!”_

“Sorry, P-” 

Joey was cut off with a wet blow that sent a chill up Peter’s spine. It was probably the Punisher who’d put an end to the conversation.

As he continued his pattern of striking, dodging, and retreating, Peter wondered what could have brought the vigilante here if he’d been telling the truth about not being here for the gang. Peter had no reason not to believe that, especially since Castle hadn’t even known what was in the truck.

As if the members had heard his thoughts, a few of them went to open the garage in front of the truck, managing to pull it up manually, its wheels squeaking loudly in protest as Peter was suddenly exposed in what had previously been the hidden half of the room.

He laughed and backed away as the confused men sobered up and zeroed in on him. Noticing that one of the ones in the back- the one with almost as many tattoos as the leader- scooped something off of the table he’d sat at when Peter first entered the warehouse. It caught the light in his palm, but it had to jingle slightly for Peter to realize those were the keys to the truck.

Spotting an opening in the line of men, he slid under their hands and spun back around to land them on the ground before again locating the man running to the truck.

Peter automatically went to shoot a web at him as he rounded the car to get to the driver’s seat. Of course, when his fingers curled into his palm, there was no trigger to press and the guy made it safely to the front.

The few who’d opened the garage jumped up into the back of the truck and pulled the doors closed.

That was when Peter realized the leader was no longer in sight. He dove past Castle, who was wrestling with three other goons, and ducked under another man who went in to tackle him just in time to see the familiar, tattooed arm pulling the passenger door shut.

Without any other ideas, Peter grabbed onto the car’s bumper and pulled down and back in a vain attempt to keep it in place. He let go when the wind was knocked out of him- a muscular arm having swept him to the side just in time to avoid the car backing into him. He’d assumed it was another gang member inadvertently getting him out of harm’s way only to look up and see the Punisher’s harsh face before it was covered by the rifle as he lined up a shot.

Thinking he was aiming for the driver or even the leader in an attempt to stop the car, Peter shouted and pushed him back, the gunshot cracking between them as they both met the ground.

The Punisher growled and shoved him off as the van disappeared, the rest of the gang left behind either moving in on the two of them or straying to the corners of the dark warehouse.

“I was aiming for the _wheels,”_ the Punisher yelled, obviously realizing the mistake Peter had made.

“How was _I_ supposed to know that!?”

“Wait, I know that voice…” one of the abandoned members said. “Is that _Spiderman?”_

The question made him flinch, his eyes immediately searching the darkness for which of the figures had said it. He fought for a way to explain himself before the time to do so ran out, not even getting the chance to stammer when the Punisher again stood between him and the goons.

“I _wish_ I could work with someone as polished as Spiderman,” he laughed, finger again off of his trigger. “Bad enough I seem to attract the crazies. Makes a bad day when I have to deal with guys like amateur hour, too.” He pointed the gun at the closest man, eyes scanning the room in the faint light. “How many of you wanna take me on on my bad day?”

One of the crew had begun backing away only for his knees to hit the frame of the shelving Peter had toppled over and crash backwards into the ground. The noise was like a signal, everyone else taking it and running in the other direction.

The Punisher was the only one who stood still in the panic, Peter even flinching behind him as they waited for the warehouse to empty and for the motorcycles that had been parked around the building to rev to life and start away into the night.

“Should,” Peter had to clear his throat before he continued, “should those guys you shot be driving with their legs and stuff?”

“They’re lucky they’re driving at all,” Castle said with a shrug before locking Peter in a glare. “Shouldn’t you be back at your house?”

Peter stiffened and began to backpedal to the still-open garage door. “I- yeah because, obviously you know I’m a teenager and there’s a curfew, right?” he said with a laugh.

“Those aren’t the only reasons.” He holstered his rifle on his back in one, fluid motion as he took a step towards Peter. 

Before he could think to run away, the Punisher was already towering over him from only a few inches away, leaning down to hiss rather than whisper, “Are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way, Spiderman?”

At knowing for sure his cover as an escaped suspect of various terrorist attacks, who was meant to be under house arrest, was blown by a vigilante notorious for putting down dangerous criminals of all shapes and sizes, it was safe to say that Peter panicked, his feet moving to turn himself around before the front of his zip up was grabbed. He was pulled back to face the Punisher head on.

As he was brought closer, only one idea came to mind and he headbutted the larger man in the nose. When Castle stumbled back, he was able to wrestle himself out of his grasp and run into the yard and back across the street. Halfway up the side of the first building he saw, he could feel another pulse of his spider sense and listened a bit closer in the almost dead silence to hear the rattle of a fire escape. More than someone walking, it was a rhythmic rattle of someone on a mission to get to the top. 

He only had to look at the next building to see the Punisher looking back from over the metal terrace.

He swallowed and shimmied over to instead leap onto the face of the next building, landing a bit higher than he had been on the one he’d just left.

Realizing this could work way better than leaping over rooftops, he used this to get to the next and to the next. It was on his third haven of brick and mortar that Peter realized he didn’t know where he was going. He knew where he was and how to get back to the house he was supposed to be in, but he also didn’t know if he should go back.

He still didn’t know if Toomes had been the one to escape from the island or who he was with. Worse than that, he could be leading the Punisher back to Aunt May, and while it had never been proven that he would attack a civilian, Peter didn’t want to see what would happen if his aunt decided to put herself between him and the vigilante.

The _pchunk_ of metal on metal cut through the air, followed by a softer noise before Peter’s spider sense allerted him once more. Unfortunately, tired and a bit late on the response, he didn’t realize what it was warning him from until a sharp sting caught his arm and he looked down to see the tuft of a tranquilizer sticking out of his arm.

So the second noise had been the tranq gun.

His eyes followed where it had come from, spotting the Punisher holstering the piece as another sat in his other hand, this one threaded to the very building he was hanging from.

A grappling hook.

The realization, again, came too late as the world fell out from under him. His eyelids felt too heavy, and his head swam in a sea of colors and noises. He couldn’t place if they were real or which ones if any were fake, though he knew enough to be afraid when he fell back from the building. Instead of everything abruptly ending when he met the ground below, he felt a much softer, if firm form around him.

He settled against the warm wall holding him as he finally plunged into sleep.

\--

Peter woke up body first.

Those few moments without his brain were soft and blurry but all at once heavy. His limbs were heavy. His eyes were heavy. The thing to finally stir his mind awake was the sureness that he could hear voices just outside of his window, though he was sure that shouldn’t be possible.

Then he shot up, any numbness forgotten as he remembered the warehouse in the scrapyard and the Punisher standing over him on the roof of a building-

He’d gotten shot.

The feeling in his arms returned, bringing in the sting of where a needle had been just as his eyes found the makeshift ski mask hanging on the back of his chair. His legs were trapped under his blanket, the corners having been tucked under the mattress as if whoever had left him there had done it on autopilot. Similarly, his sneakers were neatly placed by foot of his bed so that the toes were just underneath the frame. That paired with the way his extra sweatshirt was neatly folded on the chair itself made him think the seemingly haphazard way the mask was sticking up on the back of it was more purposeful than he’d initially thought.

“Kid was more trouble than you let on,” the Punisher’s hushed voice seeped in through the window, followed by a familiar laugh. “Not funny. Damn near broke my nose.”

As Peter gently padded away from the bed- struggling not to crumble and grab his leg when it screamed in protest- he heard the vigilante hiss in pain, though the noise sounded more forced and was followed by another chuckle.

“I’ll ice it for you, if you want.”

It had been the same voice as the laugh, and again Peter noted its familiarity. Finally at his window, he could see just the top of the Punisher’s head over the frame and someone else’s back.

He wanted to believe it was anyone else down there talking to the vigilante who’d dragged him home, but it was hard to deny it any longer when he saw the cane in his hand.

Matt Murdock, his lawyer, was now having a friendly chat with the Punisher just outside of the bedroom window.

His breath caught, and he had to swallow any of the accusations that bubbled in his throat. 

“How’d he find out where those goons were set up?” Castle asked, unaware of their audience.

Matt’s voice dropped with disappointment as he said, “I don’t know,” like it was a confession. “He told me that he has some sort of power to sense trouble and danger. Maybe he followed it out there?”

“Like a long-range gut feeling?”

Matt laughed. “He called it his ‘spider sense.’”

The Punisher laughed a bit too loud, muffling the noise into his palm before dragging his hand over his face. “Oh, that’s cute. More super powered freaks with a death sentence. Where are the guards, anyway? Shouldn’t they be doing their job instead of you pulling me down here to do it for them?”

“Radioed away for a problem too private for the scanner,” Matt said. “I have no evidence, of course, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say that someone wants to see my client throwing himself back into the fray sooner than the courts would like.”

“Yeah, and your client would agree. Didn’t want to fuck with his ankle monitor too much, but it looked like he got into it somehow. Kid was ready to make a clear run for it before I took him back in, too.”

Matt only laughed. “He probably thought you were going to kill him.”

“Only guy in the world who still thinks that.” He rolled his eyes. “This ‘only when necessary’ stuff is doing some serious damage on my image, you know.”

Matt shifted his weight, his hand coming up to pat in the center of the white skull across the Punisher’s chest.

“Daredevil doesn’t kill people, either. He still scares people. Maybe you should see it as less of a limit and more of a challenge.”

Frank huffed, tilting his head to the side and letting Peter see the smile on his face before Matt’s hand covered it when it threaded up the side of his head.

Now it felt wrong for Peter to just sit here and watch, as if he was intruding on something private. Still he stayed as Matt’s hand fell and he continued, “Thank you, again, Frank. I can wait here until the guards come back, if you want to go home.”

“Nah, I won’t go home,” he said. “I’ve got two jailbirds to catch with one stone.”

Matt hummed in thought. “You should get back to that, then.”

“I should.” The Punisher leaned over, stopped when Matt’s hand laid over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause, a silent communication Peter wasn’t sure was possible. There wasn’t so much as a twitch in Matt’s shoulders, and fingers remained still across the Punisher’s shoulders.

He leaned up, first pressing his face to Castle’s in a quick peck, and though Peter couldn’t see their lips, he knew they’d just kissed. That’s what got him to duck down and just sit against the bedroom wall. More whispers passed between them, now too quiet for him to hear. When the sound of footsteps echoed across the brick path between his house and the rundown fence in separate directions, he raised himself up enough to check for the shadowed figures before finally closing his window and latching it shut.

Still, he didn’t think he’d get any sleep that night.


	5. Chapter 5

He did end up with two hours or more of uneasy sleep after however long he’d been out of commission from the Punisher’s Tranquilizer. Peter let the fifth time he slipped out of slumber be his last. Then it was to curl over the desk and draw out a few notes of the night’s events. Part of him was yelling not to leave any evidence for someone to find, but another part of him just had to see it all laid out.

In retrospect, his lawyer dating the Punisher wasn’t the weirdest thing that could have happened to him.

He hated that he could honestly say that, but it was true. Maybe that was the favor he owed Fury in the first place- something to do with helping Frank Castle escape from prison after failing to convince the jury that a murderous vigilante was innocent in court.

Then again, SHIELD would have had to have been in contact with Matt Murdock beforehand. Maybe Nelson and Murdock had a longer, more private history of counseling superheroes and vigilantes like Spiderman and even the Punisher. He’d have to ask Ned what he could find about that without mentioning that he’d broken his order of house arrest. That is, if Matt had been honestly concerned about his phone being bugged. 

Then there was the matter of the police scanner in the attic. 

Neither Matt nor Foggy had been upstairs while they’d been over, not that Peter thought Matt would have a way of knowing where the attic door was or that either of them would have a way of getting up there without access to the rope. Who _had_ left it there?

Whoever had, were they the same person who’d called the guards away from his door?

Right now, he had to be smart about this, and no one was out of the suspect pool.

Well, no one except Aunt May, Ned, Happy, and MJ- but those were obvious.

He began with creating a web outline of ideas as he would usually create for an essay, though he left the large, center circle empty to start. He filled those around it with the names of any and all interested parties and those who he knew connections between. He wrote in Foggy and Matt as being connected to “Nelson & Murdock” but only connected Matt to the Punisher because he had no idea how involved Foggy was.

He then connected Matt to Fury.

Fury wasn’t necessarily dangerous, but neither was Matt. They both kept secrets, though. Those secrets could play into all of this more than Peter knew.

Starting a new set of bubbles, he wrote “Toomes” and left another blank bubble for his accomplice, connecting them both to Ryker’s Island, that to SHIELD, and SHIELD to Fury. That may have been an oversimplification of the facts, but it was still better than leaving things off the page.

It also couldn’t have been a coincidence that there was an escape from a supervillain prison the week Spiderman was publicly announced as being in federal custody, but that was a bit too coincidental for Peter’s liking.

Another part of the web was mapped out for “the gang” and “the truck.” He didn’t have any more specifics for the two- the name of the group or any info on what they were taking or to who. That left the connection to a third and final bubble, this one as empty as the middle save for the note Peter made over the top: “The Buyer.”

Assuming it hadn’t been Toomes, that was still the greatest mystery at hand, and he was still without a single lead as to who it might be.

He tapped his pen against his hand and looked over at the still-open window, wondering if Matt was outside. What could he do while watching over the place should Peter attempt to escape again? That was of course presuming they weren't just under the assumption that whatever tranquilizer the Punisher used would stand up to his healing factor.

That was probably it.

Peter could guess that Matt wasn’t still out there. He’d probably walked a street away and called an Uber or a cab back to wherever he lived thinking Peter would spend the rest of the night safely asleep instead of again running the streets. He didn’t have any way to tell the time without even a watch in his tiny room. May was at least allowed to keep her cellphone.

Without it, he had to go by the light of dawn slipping through the curtains. About six or at least five something.

He heard his aunt’s door open and close in the hall, causing him to jump a bit in his chair before settling back down.

“Peter?” May knocked. “Are you really up this early? School’s been out for a while, you know.”

She must have noticed the light seeping under his door in the hallway.

“Ah, yeah,” he said with a laugh, “just internal clocks, you know?”

She paused and he could imagine the helpless pity on her face as if he could see it right through the door. She’d worn it almost every minute she'd thought he wasn't looking, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed.

If she was concerned, she didn’t say it and instead said, “I called the cable company last night. They said they’re gonna turn on our boxes today.. You should come downstairs- we can catch some trash TV like we did when you were sick, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds great!”

She stayed in front of his door for a moment before softly padding toward the stairs, and Peter wondered if she had more to say.

He looked back at the notebook on the table and closed it, dropping it into the same drawer he’d found the paper clip and dropping in a few more papers and such from his bookbag on top of it for good measure. Hopefully no one rooting through Spiderman’s safehouse would bother digging through his algebra notebook anyway, but it was better safe than sorry.

It wasn’t even like he’d figured anything out with that little exercise, but it was a good place to start.

Connections on a web he didn’t really know how to read, but he was willing to learn.

He got up and grabbed a pair of shorts, slipping out of his first pair of sweatpants and almost sighing at the cool air on his legs before going across the hall to the bathroom.

When he flicked on the light, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of a dark shadow at about his height in the corner of his vision.

It was just his own reflection, sporting a bruise that dominated the side of his face from the left side of the back of his jaw up to his ear and cheekbone.

He touched it with a wince, slamming the door shut when he heard May coming up the stairs.

“Peter?” she asked. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine! Just getting ready,” he said, trying to work the worry from his voice as he gazed back at his own reflection.

His face had gone a ghostly pale which only highlighted the damaged skin even more. He hadn’t thought he’d gotten hit that hard and even considered the possibility that Castle had dropped him at some point in his return home only to remember when he was pulling one of the men at the warehouse down to the floor and one of them had caught him in the jaw in his desperate flail to escape.

The memory of how he got the bruise was no comfort, as he still had no idea what he was going to do about it.

If May said something before he heard her bedroom door open and close again, Peter didn’t hear it. He threw on some new clothes and realized what he had to do.

He stepped out into the hall and stopped at the top of the stairs counting mentally down from five.

4… 3… 2…

May’s door opened again and he panicked, making the fall forward a bit more genuine than he’d liked. Still, when he reached up to grab for the ceiling, it was too late and his already bruised face was meeting the stairs and his head was bouncing along them as he slid to the floor.

“Peter!” May gasped, gently jogging down next to where he was pushing himself up from the floor before her hands wrapped around his upper arm. “Peter, are you okay?”

She gasped at seeing the purple bruise, but he only smiled and pulled himself up with a shake of his head.

“I’m alright, May. It’s okay.”

“But your face-!” 

“Hm?” he asked, maybe laying it on a bit too thickly as he touched the side of his face he knew he didn’t land on. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh God, Peter- how many fingers?”

She held up her middle, index, and thumb.

“Thumb isn’t a finger, May.”

She huffed and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Being a smartass doesn’t make you fine.”

A smile pulled at her lips and colored her words, growing against her will as Peter pulled them both to stand at the base of the stairs.

“I’m fine May, really.” He again groped around his face. “It’s not _that_ bad, is it?”

Her hand moved slowly from his shoulder to his jaw, cupping it gently and coaxing him to turn into the light of the stairwell.

“Well, I guess if it doesn’t hurt. It looks like it’s already formed though, which is just weird. That’s probably just your healing stuff,” she mumbled more to herself before again looking him in the eye and covering his face. She pulled her hand away and watched his eyes, probably checking for a concussion. Only when she was satisfied with her findings did she let go. “Fine. You really should take it easy, though. Did you not sleep last night?”

He bit his tongue on the immediate response of “Of course I did!” to instead say, “Yeah, I- I slept great.”

“Pete, come on.” Her hand coiled around his own and brought it closer. “I know you don’t think I’d understand all of this stuff with Mysterious and- and with SHIELD, and maybe I won’t. But I’d like you to at least try talking to me once in awhile, even if I might not get it, and even if it’s just for you. I was here for you way before Spiderman got to you, and I’ll be here after him, okay?”

The words melted him in their authenticity, turning him malleable as May began to rock him by the arm.

“Okay.”

She took the small victory, her smile growing just a bit more as she rubbed his arm, squeezed once, and finally let him go.

“You have your leftovers from last night,” she said as she disappeared around the corner and into the almost hidden kitchen, “but did you want something else?”

“Oh, no thanks, May,” he said, already feeling bad enough about how she’d just fussed over him.

It had worked, though.

They were able to go about the rest of their day without a mention of the bruise, even managing to laugh along with their day-time TV programs in a moment of peace. It reminded Peter of a different time when the line between him and Spiderman was less blurry and he could have those precious moments as the unsullied Peter Parker.

Then the doorbell rang on their little safe house no one was supposed to know about without any idea on who would be visiting that day, and there was a flash of panic as Peter remembered that there was the possibility that Toomes was out for blood.

That panic was briefly halved when they opened the door to reveal Matt Murdock, a guard behind him as if making sure he made it up the treacherous stone path in one piece.

“Mr. Murdock,” May said, “what a surprise.”

“A good one, I hope.” He smiled as he was allowed inside. “I’m sorry to bother you two, but I had some questions about the modifications to the STARK technology, specifically with the nodes on the drones and how their image displaying qualities were affected by-”

May made a noise of both hesitation and discomfort, waving her hands before breaking down in a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, but I am not the gal for that. Uh, Peter’s right here though- why don’t you speak up?”

“Oh, he is?” Matt asked, his voice a bit too stilted for Peter’s liking.

Either way, he eventually said, “Yeah, right here, Mr. Murdock.”

“That’s great. Why don’t we do this upstairs, then? I don’t want to bother your aunt with this technical information.” 

“That won’t be a problem?” May asked, a bit hesitant. “I mean, I can go upstairs instead, if you’d like.”

As if realizing she was trying to accommodate him, Matt only laughed. “No no, it’s fine. Stairs are really nothing. My apartment’s on the fourth floor in a building where the elevator doesn’t work half the time.”

He chuckled again, this time over May starting to apologize before she too jumped in, her face growing red under her glasses as she ran her fingers over one another with a sudden lack of knowing what to do with them while she spoke.

Deciding to save her, Peter stepped between them and toward the stairs.

“Yeah, that sounds good, Mr. Murdock,” he said as he did so before fully turning around. “Let’s go talk about those… the nodes.”

The lawyer trailed after him and closed the door once they were both in the bedroom, Peter finding the bed and sitting down before realizing Matt was still standing.

“Uh, the chair-” he started before stopping, having to work through his hesitance to speak, “there’s a chair right in front of me- I-”

“It’s fine. I can find it, thank you.” Matt still smiled as he probed the floor with his cane to find the chair, turning it to face Peter with a similar ease.

It was kind of funny that, up on the overstuffed bed, Peter was the taller of the two, but there wasn’t any time to take pleasure in that when he still felt so small.

“So, Peter,” Matt tilted his head to the side, “I’m sure you already know that whatever I said downstairs didn’t make any sense.”

“Not a bit,” Peter said. “I mean- I think you meant projectors, not nodes, but you were probably just trying to get me up here to talk about last night.”

“Yeah, you figured me out. So, what _did_ happen last night?”

Peter looked down at the floor. “I knew that people needed my help, so I did what I could to get there.”

“And you did that by doing what exactly to your ankle monitor?”

“You’re really going to dig into me over what’s legal?”

Matt, as if literally taken aback by the question, sat up a bit straighter and leaned away from Peter in the chair. His cane collapsed between his hands with a practiced ease before he laid it over his lap. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I mean the Punisher,” Peter hissed, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I kind of saw you two last night talking and-”

“You saw us together?”

“No! I mean, I did, yeah, and my friend told me you were the one that defended him in court. How are you going to sit there and tell me that you trust me and know I didn’t do anything wrong when you’re hanging around with a guy like _that?”_

“What does you sneaking out and admittedly tampering your monitoring device have to do with who I ‘hang around with?’”

“Nothing, but what you say to me does. I- I appreciate all the stuff you’ve done for me, but I don’t think I can do this if you’re not honest with me or don’t really believe me. If you’re just doing this as a favor to Fury, and you think I’m the one who told those drones to kill all of those people… I don’t think I want a guy like you in my corner.”

Matt stared at him even as Peter dropped his head to the side and focused on a space just behind the edge of the desk where the paint changed color. He was prepared for Matt to get up and leave, maybe he’d even lose that cool persona in favor of clumsily shuffling himself together.

Maybe he’d tell the officers outside to check his ankle monitor as revenge.

The last part clicked in his head at the same time Matt stood, his cane flying out from his hand to land straight out in front of neck, forcing him to back up further onto the bed as he stared into his own wide, scared eyes framed in either of the red lenses.

“Peter Parker, you have a lot of nerve demanding trust and questioning my morality after doing everything you could to screw over the one person who both knows for a fact that you couldn’t do this and has any hope of helping you prove it.” He dropped his cane back to his side and allowed Peter to readjust himself before he continued. “Frank’s case- _The Punisher’s_ case- was different from yours. We weren’t looking to defend him as a murderer, but to keep him from getting the death penalty. He ended up pleading ‘not guilty,’ and a lot of other stuff just seemed to topple in and out of place after that. None of that really matters because not only is he not _you,_ but he and I weren’t even involved at that point. At least, not to the point we are now. So whatever story you’ve spun for how Frank and I got together or what we’ve been through to get where we are, you can cut it loose.

“As for everything that I said about you- about what happened to you- I meant every word. I may have omitted some things about my personal life, but that doesn’t make me a liar.”

“Personal life!?” Peter forced himself to quiet down, remembering Aunt May was just downstairs. “Your ‘personal life’ stops being ‘personal’ when you send him out to stick me with a tranquilizer.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that. He knew that I had some concerns about you and your aunt- mostly for your safety- and he offered to stake out the house for a few nights. He called me when you flew the coop and said he’d go pick you up before you did anything stupid. It’s a good thing he did.”

“Good for your case?”

“Good for yourself. Good for _your_ case. Listen, Peter, I don’t care if you want to call Fury and tell him you don’t want me as your lawyer. That’s fine, but I _do_ care if you’re sabotaging yourself for short-sighted goals instead of playing this smart.” 

He paused to let that sink in, Peter’s breath evening out as his eyes found Matt’s shoes. On the outside, he must have looked calmer than ever, his shoulders slack and his face numb with neutrality. Still he could hear his own heartbeat racing in his ears. He’d long outgrown the baby blanket of complacency, which was now too small to cover much more than his face as he resisted the urge to fill it with muffled screams. It had shrunk with the growing pains of Stark’s death, Beck’s scheme, and the absolute failure of any of the adults he’d once trusted around him to handle these situations.

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Matt said, as if hearing Peter’s thoughts. “I just need you to let me do my job as a lawyer so that you can do your job as a hero and protect the people around you by staying right here. I don’t need to treat you like a kid and ask, ‘What would have happened if someone had followed you back here?’”

“I thought it was the Vulture,” Peter said simply, the final syllable almost lost as it fell from his lips. “If Adrian Toomes was back- if he _is_ back- I am the only one who can stop him.”

“But you’re not. There are other heroes-”

“He won’t be after other heroes. He’ll be after me, May- Happy, if he goes after Stark Industries again, and then there’s Pepper and if he gets his hands on that kind of technology, who knows what could happen!”

“And it’s not entirely on Spiderman to prevent all of that. I’m telling you, Peter, all of New York doesn’t rest on your shoulders. The world doesn’t either.”

Those words struck something in Peter, and while they didn’t soothe him, they did keep him quiet a moment longer.

As if sensing his silence was born out of a confused anger rather than complacency with Matt’s words, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but not all of it is external. You really are just putting some of this on yourself when it doesn’t have to be.”

“Mr. Murdock,” Peter said, “I- I really am sorry. You’ve done a lot for me, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful for that. I just feel so,” the words died in his throat as his hands wrapped around the edge of his bed. “I feel helpless.”

They shared the silence for a while, Matt only cocking his head slightly to the side in a manner not unlike a bird. Peter only noticed the motion in his peripheral, eyes still looking anywhere but Matt’s face lest he catch sight of himself in his glasses once more.

Then Matt moved forward again, slower this time to lay his palm squarely over Peter’s shoulder.

“You’re going to feel helpless,” he said. “There’s a long wait for your trial while people who think they have more important things to do work out the details. If I’m being honest with you, there isn’t much you can do but wait. I know that’s hard to hear, and no amount of ‘leave it to me’s or ‘stay put’s will make that sound any better.” He pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket. “If it helps, try to think about it in the long term. Every week, month, and moment you spend off of the frontlines now will be paid back in years of a career as a Spiderman people will believe in. You won’t be the ‘Spider-menace,’ you’ll be an example of a hero that humbly stepped down when he knew people would feel safer with him on the sidelines. There are always going to be people who don’t trust vigilantes on principle, but there will be fewer of them with a vendetta against you specifically if you cooperate with the law.

“Frank, right now, is legally a free man.” When Peter’s head snapped toward him, he laughed. “I’m not going to get too into it. There’s a lot of red tape, and that’s his story to tell. Still, he has to hide himself in the shadows, and even lives in the city he protects under a different name. That’s the life he chose when he made himself into the enemy, and he lives with that. I know it haunts him, though. There’s a tension in his arm when he’s just a civilian. It’s a worry that someone’s going to recognize him as the mass murderer from the news, and his life will fall apart. He knows I can handle myself, but I know part of that tension is over what could happen to _me_ if people were to find out.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re worried about your aunt now that the line between Peter Parker and Spiderman is blurred. Make a few less enemies. Stay smart, stay safe, and stay here.”

Peter’s head fell again. “Yes, Mr. Murdock.”

He seemed to take that, though hesitation guided his hand as Peter walked him back to the stairs. When he reached half way down, May let out a delighted noise somewhere between a scream and a laugh.

“Peter- Petey, come look!”

Peter looked back at Matt as if he could possibly know what was happening before he walked a bit faster over to where Aunt May was standing in front of the television, wringing her hands and smiling with an aura of anticipation and barely constrained glee.

Peter didn’t catch anything actually coming from the TV until he rounded it. His jaw fell open at the site of a massive crowd in Washington DC. Their purpose was clear without the newscastor’s narration and the informational strip across the bottom. It was read in their signs and the banners with crudely drawn pictures of him. They were pictures of Spiderman. There were even a few members of the crowd in thrown-together costumes that made him laugh in fond memory of his first suit.

May, hearing the noise, looked over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hug him close. It was only when her head turned into his cheek that he realized he was actually crying.

_“... back to the Capitol where crowds have gathered in support of Spiderman in the face of the accusations lobbied against him by the late Quentin Beck, we go live with Joseph Robertson as we try to answer what has inspired this support in such passion and numbers. Joe?”_

The camera cut from the overhead shots of the crowd to a man with a microphone and a smile too soft to just be for the camera.

_“I’m here in the heart of the crowd in this peaceful show of support for the hero known as Spiderman. This rally has been one of many to pop up here in the northeast, and it is not the first to be started by a small club of students who claim to be personally affected by Peter Parker’s incarceration, the news of which has been a blow to communities who both favored and opposed the web-slinger’s tactics. I’ve managed to secure an interview with the leaders of this group, would you two care to introduce yourselves?”_

Peter would later be ashamed when he realized he was surprised to see Ned and MJ standing at the reporter’s side, the former wearing a shirt with a red circle stripped with white puffy paint that Peter realized was meant to be his own head. MJ, likewise, held up a sign that read “Absolve the Arachnid” with another picture of spiderman, this one in black and white.

_“Uh, I’m Ned Leeds, and this is MJ-”_

_“Michelle Jones.”_

Robertson nodded and asked, _“What brought you two, your classmates, and the rest of this crowd down to the capitol today? What are you hoping to get out of this show of support for Spiderman?”_

Before Ned could say anything, MJ grabbed the mic and looked directly at the camera. _“We’re not just here for Spiderman. We’re students at MSST. Even before we knew he was Spiderman, Peter Parker was our friend, and we’re not just gonna stand around while the same two-bit wacko on the internet that was talking about soy by-product effeminating salamander populations in Asia spreads lies about him. We’re also not gonna let the government bully him or us into believing Peter is anything but a hero.”_

Peter had never seen MJ so fired up. The last time she’d been half as passionate, she was talking about the half-hearted attempts to rebuild Sokovia and how the world had moved on after the battle with Ultron.

That same fire was there now tenfold, and it made him soft to know that it was for him.

With less confidence but no less conviction, Ned held onto the mic with her. _“I’ve been friends with Peter for a long time, and he did everything he could to help us- to help_ everyone. _They’re dragging out his trial, and it’s not fair. They’re taking away the last avenger on the word of some guy that tried to kill us!”_

 _“Mr. Leeds,”_ Robertson said, his voice cutting back in as he regained his microphone, _“are you trying to imply that Quentin Beck attempted to kill you?”_

Betty came from out of nowhere, Popping over Ned’s shoulder. _“Uh, he’s not ‘implying’ anything. He’s_ saying _it! We were running for our lives when Spiderman shut down that flying fishbowl’s drone attack. Like- why would Spiderman dress up as Night Monkey and save me just to try and kill me later with some drones?”_

 _“That is the question New York and the world wants to know.”_ Robertson turned back to the camera. _“Why would Spiderman save the world and so many lives only to cause such destruction? Sources here in the Capitol say: It doesn’t add up. This is Joe Robertson, back to you, Jill.”_

A quiet noise of admiration reminded Peter that Matt was still in the room, quietly standing beside the couch with his hands folded over the top of his cane. “Seems like you have a lot of supporters out there. Looks like the courts will have pressure from both sides.”

“That’s great, right?” May asked, apprehension creeping into her voice.

“Of course,” Matt assured her with a smile. “It’s always good to know someone’s in your corner, especially people as determined as your friends down there.”

Peter nodded and looked back at where the reporter at the station was still talking over footage of the protest. “I can’t believe Ned and MJ would put themselves out there like that. They didn’t even tell me about this.”

“They’re just trying to do their part like the rest of us,” Matt said, brushing his hand over Peter’s shoulder as he made his way to the door. “No one likes feeling helpless, Peter, even those of us who aren’t Spiderman.”

He turned to May and said his quick goodbyes, shaking her hand and Peter’s before he went back through security to hail a cab a street or two down from the house. And Peter was left behind with his Aunt and the news to think about what his part was, and if it had any room for change.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t until the day after the news broadcast that Peter was able to reach Ned, his friend’s laughter cutting over the phone as soon as Peter’ signaled that he’d seen their protest.

“Dude-” he shouted into the receiver before bringing his voice down, “I can’t believe you’d do that! That was so cool!”

 _“Well it was all MJ’s idea,”_ Ned said.

“I can’t believe you lied about having homework to do-!”

 _“Not really a lie if I already had it done, but hey- I just wanted to tell you I had something I was doing, then you had to go and point out my ‘homework voice’ or whatever.”_ He laughed anyway. _“_ _It’s really like, not even that big a deal, Pete. We just wanted to make some noise, let people know what New York really thinks of Spiderman- thinks of_ you, _ya know?”_

“Well.. It is a big deal, Ned. Just, thank you, so much.”

 _“No problem,”_ he said before making a mischievous noise. _“You know, dude, I think there’s someone else you should really be thanking for all this.”_

Knowing who he meant, Peter sighed and started saying, “You know I can’t talk to MJ right now,” only for his mouth to snap shut after the first word.

 _“Hey, tiger,”_ MJ almost drawled over the phone, and Peter felt stupid for assuming she and Ned weren’t together wherever they were staying for their weekend in Washington. _“It’s been a while- lose my number, or something?”_

She stayed quiet for a while, and it took Peter a moment to realize that he was meant to respond. “Uh, yeah.”

_“Yeah it’s been a while, or yeah you lost it?”_

“Oh, I mean ‘no.’ I mean- yeah, haha, it’s been a while.” He hoped she’d just continue and run him through with words about how let down she was or how she was going to stay in his corner but that their time apart had made her rethink actually “dating” Spiderman. She again wanted him to talk. “You want me to explain, don’t you?”

 _“A little bit, yeah,”_ she said, followed by the sound of a door opening and shutting. Just under her breaths, he could hear traffic pick up and imagined her stepping outside for some privacy.

“I.. I’m sorry for leaving you, MJ.”

 _“If I’m being honest, it hurt.”_ Her voice was sharp and matter-of-fact, but he could hear the wetness that clouded her words. _“I get it, though. I mean, I was freaked out. I can’t even imagine how you felt.”_

“Yeah, but I should have still thought of you first. Like, I’m Spiderman, I’ll be fine, but people literally just saw me put you down.”

 _“Yeah, I got a lot of people asking questions after you dipped,”_ she said, _“got em off my back, though. Not like I was in ‘grave danger’ or anything.”_

“Still….”

_“‘Still’ nothing, Peter. You did what you had to do. I wish I’d been there to help, but I don’t think there’s much I could do anyway. I’m not gonna be that useless again though, so next time you get the chance to drag me along, you better not leave me behind. Got it?”_

He shook his head. “MJ, you weren’t useless. I just… I wasn’t thinking. So, I’m sorry.”

There was a shift over the line and he could hear her let out a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. Her voice crackled as she brought her voice down into a whisper. _“I’m sorry, too, Peter. I’m sorry about all of this.”_

Though she couldn’t see it, he smiled for her anyway. “It’s not like you did anything.”

 _“I know I didn’t,”_ she said. _“I still can’t believe you’re got outed by the girly salamander dude.”_

Peter actually laughed at that, a cough escaping from his too-dry throat.

“Highlight of my summer, honestly,” he said. “Well, second to you.” It had slipped out before he’d meant to say it, and Peter shot up at realizing it hadn’t just been in his head.

Before he could correct himself, he heard MJ let out a small chuckle.

_“I like how genuine that sounded.”_

“Well, it was,” he said. “Genuine, I mean, and I… I haven’t called you because I was worried that I already screwed all this up.”

_“Well that’s stupid. I mean, like, I don’t think we need to break anything off over something literally out of your control. It’s weird and,” she sighed, “it’s frustrating having to hear people who never even met you talk about you like you’re a personal thorn in their side, but it’s not my problem. Not something I’m gonna break up with you over, I mean.”_

“I- thanks, MJ.”

 _“Thank nothing,”_ she said. _“So, Ned told me you got the Punisher lawyers… how’s that going?”_

“It’s-” his pause turned into a whine before he flopped back against his bed. “It’s going? I don’t know. Mr. Murdock is really weird.”

_“Weird?”_

“It’s an understatement, really.”

_“Weird how?”_

“Like… I think after the Punisher or whatever, it’s like he has a personal stake in vigilanties. I also think he like, knows something he’s not telling me about either Beck or the Vulture-”

_“Oh, you saw that the Vulture got out, huh?”_

He had had it confirmed on the news earlier that day, not that it was a surprise at that point.

“Yeah,” he said anyway. “Him and that crazy guy. I didn’t even know Gargan was in the same prison- like, he’s not even a ‘super’ villain, just crazy.”

 _“Maybe because he was connected to Toomes?”_ she suggested. _“What could your lawyer know about that, though? How did you even accidentally hire the Punisher’s lawyer anyway?”_

“Fury knew him and set me up,” he said. “He said Mr. Murdock owed him a favor.”

 _“Well that’s not ominous,”_ she said and Peter could almost picture the eyeroll. _“Anything else that makes you think he’s ‘weird?’”_

_He’s dating the Punisher._

“No, he’s just weird.”

* * *

He and MJ talked on and off for the next week, her calls scheduled on alternating days with Ned. He had to take her day off when Monday came and he was combing his hair and checking over his suit in the mirror. It was his homecoming suit, but it was the only suit he owned. Happy had offered to bring another one- May relaying the offer through a shout up the stairs after it had been made over the phone- but they were meeting at the courthouse and Peter didn’t like the idea of changing in some court bathroom stall. Not to mention that he didn’t know if he’d be allowed to go off on his own for any period of time.

It certainly didn’t seem that way when the guards moved to place shackles on him as they approached the car.

Foggy, who’d come down to ride with them to the courthouse where they’d meet up with Matt and Happy, stepped forward. “Are those really necessary?”

“Just doing our job, pal. What? Don’t like the idea of the media seeing your guy in chains?”

“Not in particular,” he said, “but there’s also the issue of excessive force.”

The officer turned entirely toward him, his elbow leaning on the hood of the car next to him.

“Do you consider a pair of cuffs on the guy who can rip a light post out of the ground and use it like a baseball bat excessive?”

Before Foggy could so much as open his mouth to answer, the cuffs were already snapped into place, too tight on his wrists and they were being herded into the car so that they could be attached to a hook on the ceiling.

Once the door was closed an the privacy screen between May, Foggy, Peter, and the men in the front was up, Foggy nodded sheepishly from where he sat on the bench opposite May and Peter, their seats facing each other like a limo.

“It’s okay,” Peter said, his lips pursing in a tiny smile.

“I’m just glad you’re willing to try,” May said. “You don’t know how lucky I think we are- how lucky we _are-_ to have you and Matt. The hospital I worked at before all of this… the lawyers I saw come through there working for us and working for patients, they didn’t care about anything but the win or the loss. You guys are caring about the process, and you care about us.” She wove her hand around Peter’s shoulders, careful not to pull on him lest his arms pull in the cuffs. “I just wanted to thank you for that, again.”

Foggy laughed. “It’s really nothing, Mrs. Parker. Nelson and Murdock- you know, us as a firm- we’re small, so maybe it’s something about us wanting to root for the little guy. We always get really… _invested_ in our cases.”

“But you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Fury,” Peter said.

For the first time since he’d known the man, Foggy seemed to be truly caught off guard by what someone had said. The officer had acted over Foggy’s words, not letting him get one in, but Peter’s point had made an impact and it showed in how he floundered, eyes shooting between Peter and May.

“Well, yeah,” he said.

“Not that that’s a problem,” May interjected. “We’re lucky to have you over any other lawyer that works for SHIELD, honestly, I’m sure none of them would be as nice.”

“But they don’t work for SHIELD,” Peter said to May first, and then he turned back to Foggy. “Fury said you guys owed him a favor?”

Foggy nodded slowly at first before it picked up. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a… a story.”

All doubts in Peter’s head that Foggy didn’t know as much as Matt crumbled further the longer Foggy squirmed and nervously pulled at the lapels of his jacket.

“He didn’ tell me what he did for you guys, but that’s gotta be pretty big. I mean, I don’t even know how you guys would meet a guy like ‘Nick Fury’ on a normal day.”

“Oh yeah, it’s quite a story,” Foggy chuckled, some of his discomfort subsiding. “I’m sure Matt tells it better than me, though.”

May tilted her head as she leaned to balance her elbows on the knees of her grey dress pants. “This is the first I’m hearing about this. Did he give you information for a case?”

“Ah, no,” Foggy said. “I know it’s weird that a couple of lawyers would know a guy like Fury at all- just you know, a couple of guys from New York.”

“Did you guys have to defend a hero from him?”

“No no, nothing like that,” Foggy said. “We do a lot with supers- mutants and mutates, people who had their otherwise peaceful technologies bastardized- for,” he turned to May, “for lack of a better word.”

She nodded and held up a hand for him to continue.

“Out of all of those cases, though, we never really got to meet people from SHIELD.”

Peter tilted his head as best he could before readjusting his shoulders to better see Foggy over his bicep. “So when did you meet Fury?”

Foggy’s eyes flitted to the side. “The uh- the Blip. We met after the Blip.”

May swallowed audibly in her seat, her hands folding over each of her elbows.

“Did you lose someone, when it happened?”

He shook his head with a tender smile. “Nah. I was the one that disappeared. Me, and Karen, and…”

Peter waited a moment and filled in, “and Mr. Murdock?”

Foggy nodded quickly. “I- yeah, and Matt wanted answers, and found Fury.”

“He just _found_ him?”

May smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Peter, stop it.”

“No no, I get it,” Foggy said. “It sounds weird, but like I said, Matt tells it better than I do. You should really ask him, I’m sure he… he might really wanna talk about it. I mean, it’s kind of cool knowing the guy personally, even if he is ya know- big SHIELD guy who could silence a room with a look. Wouldn’t mind having to do something like this again, too. Hopefully not for Spiderman, of course.”

With a curt nod, Peter kept his face from turning to a grimace. “Of course.”

The ride to the courthouse was short and quieter once they’d wrapped up that awkward piece of conversation. That quiet was overturned by the slow, steady build up of excited chatters and the clamouring of cameras before the car door opened to reveal Peter to the waiting eyes of the excited camera crew. They buzzed as he was unchained from the ceiling and led out after Foggy and May. Flashes dominated his vision, driving him to squint as Foggy hovered a hand behind his back to guide him up the steps. Once inside of the building, he allowed himself a moment to breathe.

“They’re vultures,” Matt said, calling attention to where he and Happy were standing, the other man nodding slowly in agreement. “Make it here alright?”

“Yes, thank God,” May said, lightly rolling her eyes. “Is the hearing starting soon?”

“We’re meeting with the DA in a moment, yes,” Matt said.

“Is this still the Burkhardt guy?”

Foggy stepped in to say, “No ma’am, this is the District Attorney. This is going to be about the jurisdiction of Peter’s case.”

“Right,” she nodded. “And that’ll be local, then?”

“No,” Matt said. “I’ll be honest with you, this is just a formality for us to move up to a federal case. There was no chance of us staying in New York.”

“Right,” she shook her head, eyes squinted shut as she held her temple in concentration. “I’m sorry, I knew this was about the jurisdiction, I just asked because I- the question flew out of my mouth.”

“No need to apologize,” Foggy assured her, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Keeping track of stuff like this is exactly what we’re here for, you two can ask as many questions as you want.”

 _Unless it’s about anything important._ Peter’s eyes fell to the ground, his hands tightening into fists. Past the slate grey sleeves of his jacket, he could just barely see the silver of his cuffs.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice washed over the group, everyone looking up at the tall speaker but Matt, who simply turned in the direction of the voice. It was another guard. “The room designated for you all to wait in is right over here, please make your way quickly and quietly.”

They followed him to a large office with grand, wooden walls that grew into a vaulted ceiling. Foggy whistled at the accommodations once the guard had disappeared with a promise that the DA would see them shortly.

“Usually we have to wait in the hall for our hearings and meetings.”

“They probably don’t want Peter in the open for too long,” Matt said, his voice absent as he stood by the door. “Tower will probably want to meet us in here, as well.”

Foggy scoffed. “He worked his ass off for that office. Why would he want to do that?”

Matt tilted his head. “Unless I’m way off course, we’re in the center of the building, right?”

“Yeah,” Happy said. “Why?”

Raising his cane to gesture to the room, Matt’s tone darkened, “No windows.”

Realization colored Foggy’s face a sickly pale before he nodded and turned to the side. “Way to make things dark, Matt, very observant.”

Matt shrugged with a sarcastic smile, the two of them in their own world before May raised her hand.

“Um, excuse me? What does the presence of windows mean, exactly?”

Foggy looked between his partner and May, his hands folding over one another as he found the most polite way to state, “The first time Matt and I had a meeting in the DA’s office- with the previous DA, a woman named Reyes- the office was… attacked.”

“She got shot,” Matt confirmed. “Foggy, too, but Foggy lived.”

May shuddered, her hand immediately seeking Peter’s as she brought herself to stand closer to him. “You think he thinks that someone else could try to shoot him this time?”

“Yes,” Matt said.

“But why?” Happy asked. “The only thing the same about that time and this time is you two. Unless there’s something you two aren’t telling us, I don’t see how you two being in the same room as a DA gets them killed.”

The noise Foggy made was one born of forced humor and sarcasm. “You’d be surprised with our luck.”

“Foggy,” Matt snipped as he took a step toward the group. “The truth is, the first time we were here, we’d just finished working with a client similar to Peter. Their relationship to the public was strenuous, and their image wasn’t very good for ours. It was our tie to that client as well as Reyes that led to her death. I can’t see Tower making a similar move and making our meeting public.”

Foggy scoffed. “Guess I’m gonna have to ask about why he called the mob outside, then.”

Matt tilted his head, as if preparing to continue the conversation, only to grow quiet with tension when the door opened behind him.

A proper man in a nice suit with squared glasses that caught the glimmer in his eyes.

“Nelson,” he nodded to Foggy, and then to Matt. “Murdock. My favorite boys.”

Foggy smiled a little too genuinely for it to be entirely sarcastic, though the bite was still present in his voice when he said, “Good to see you, too. You know, on friendlier terms.”

“You mean when you’re not trying to run against me for office?” Tower said as he crossed the room to shake hands with both men. He then shook hands with May and Happy, addressing Peter last by first crossing his arms over his chest. “Peter Parker,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, I’m not exactly a big fan of vigilantes, right kid?”

Peter nodded, beside himself. “No one really seems to be, lately.”

“Well, when you’re dealing with people who work with the law as much as I do, I hope you understand we don’t usually like people who can do our jobs better than we ever could.” He smiled and stretched a hand out. “I’m personally a huge fan of Spiderman, specifically. In a state of magical ninjas and homicidal revenge-seekers, ‘boy next door walking little old ladies across the street and stringing up a bank robber only so that he’ll wait for the cops’ is a nice change of pace.”

A sigh of relief left Peter as he curled forward with the force of the tension leaving his shoulders. Tower was waiting to shake his hand, and Peter reached up with both hands so as not to let the chains catch.

“Ooh, they have you in cuffs?” Tower said. “You could probably snap these like a rubber band.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. As an afterthought, his eyes widened and he added, “Not that I would! I mean, if the cuffs are here, they want them here, so I want them here.”

“Good answer,” Tower said before clapping him on the shoulder, “but you can relax.” He turned around to face Matt and Foggy again. “You two ready to get these jurisdiction papers out of the way?”

“Yes, sir,” Foggy said as he slid into a chair at the table, pulling out the one beside him for Matt. 

May took the seat on the corner next to him, Peter and Happy following suit with Happy stealing a chair from the side opposite to the lawyers as Tower took a chair on that side.

It was a simple conversation, another round of questions and simple answers with Matt and Foggy guiding May through signing the papers to let people in offices far away know that Peter’s legal guardian knew what was going on through the process of his trial.

It ended with another round of handshakes almost an hour later, Foggy and Tower breaking off to share a conversation. Peter tried to imagine Foggy, with his long hair and his loose tie, running against Tower for the DA position. Part of him wanted to know how two men, who seemed to get along in front of him, had handled going head to head in the past.

“By the way, Blake,” Foggy said, confirming their familiarity by using Tower’s first name, “Matt has this crazy theory about why you wanted us in this room. You’re not seriously worried about what happened to Reyes, are you?”

“Oh yeah,” Tower said simply, the only sign of concern being the way his brow furrowed over his ever-present smile. “Aren’t you? I mean, Foggy, I thought you were past Death sentences with everything that happened with Fisk.”

Foggy scoffed and waved Tower off. “That’s a whole other conversation, but if you’re so scared of something happening while you’re working on the Spiderman Case, why call the camera crews and half of the press in New York to your doorstep?”

Tower’s smile faltered for a minute and he leaned back against the table with genuine confusion spreading over his face.

“I thought you called them?”

That was the last thing Peter heard before the ceiling cracked open like the top of an egg, a long crack running overhead. He turned to May only to see Matt already pushing her against the wall only to return and snatch Peter out of the way of a piece of the ceiling. Happy joined them as Foggy and Tower crowded themselves under one of the wooden arches that shook under the unbalanced weight of the concrete ceiling caving in.

May yelped when Peter broke off from them, his cuffed hands sticking out to keep one of the pillars from falling and to help it better support the unsteady rubble.

“Get to the door!” he called over his shoulder.

“Peter-!” May called, Happy’s arm already around her waist to help usher her out of the room.

“I’ll be fine, May,” Peter said, watching Foggy look back at Matt, who was holding the door open.

When he and Tower were out, he moved toward the doorway. No one had left the mouth of the room, waiting for Peter to try dashing to them only for him to be yanked back- arms pressed to his sides. He fought the clamps around him before he even knew what they were. His efforts and desperate flex of his limbs was kicked into overdrive when he felt his feet leave the ground.

“Peter-!” May yelled, trying to push over Happy’s arm into the room. He could see Matt and Foggy pressing her shoulders back into the hallway just as he rose above the lip of the building. Then he was being turned around to face his captor.

It was a tall, masked figure, balanced atop a pointed drone, their helmet oblong and elongated as it reflected Peter’s face in the shiny black surface.

The limb holding him up was connected to the drone, starting almost impossibly small before growing out to at least four feet in diameter. He saw a similar limb on the other side of the board, ending in four prongs that were splayed out. Peter could imagine that those same prongs existed on the one holding him, leaving him to the mercy of the stranger.

“Uh, hey-” he said, feet kicking out against a ground that wasn’t there. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he laughed. “Don’t suppose that means you don’t have a reason to hold a grudge against me? You know- right building, wrong guy, kind of situation? You know, you wouldn’t believe how many superheroes are seeing the inside of a courthouse nowadays.”

The figure tilted his head, shoulders leaning away from Peter before the drone began to fly to the side with no more than a turn of his hand, Peter trailing after him in the tentacle’s grip.

“Hey! Hey, come on man- If you’re not just gonna kill me right here, what’s the point in taking me somewhere else?”

The figure didn’t answer, and Peter realized talking wasn’t going to do him any good.

He felt around him, and while there wasn’t much room, the prongs did bow in the middle of where they gripped him. The room was just more around his forearms where he couldn’t use a lot of his strength.

He allowed himself to slip down slightly in the tentacle, hearing the crowd of reporters and civilians below cry out at the idea that a boy they either did or didn’t know was Peter Parker was about to fall. Before that could happen, he jutted his elbows out to the side pushing back and out like a man giving an exaggerated yawn in the early morning.

Where his words had failed to catch the figure’s attention, the creak of metal made him stop in his tracks. The other tentacle swung out as he was tossed up in the air, only to be caught by the place his cuffs met. The prongs almost looked delicate where they held him, wrists screaming as they caught on the cuffs.

The drone neared his feet, letting him just barely reach it with his toes as if to provide some respite for his arms, though the figure still kept his distance on the other end so that Peter didn’t get any ideas about kicking him off.

“Look at those people down there, okay?” Peter said. “They’re scared. I’m scared, okay? Is this what you wanted?”

The black helmet turned down to examine the crowd on the sidewalk as if its owner had only just noticed the cameras fixed on where Peter was strung up. His weird helmet shape and the way he silently observed the crowd made him look _alien_ in nature, his foreign shape almost elegant and ethereal above the New York courthouse.

That elegant air shattered when he was knocked forward by a blow to the back of his head.

He steadied himself while Peter watched the object that had flung up to hit him fall down and snare the ridge along the edge of the board. It was only then he realized that the object had a cord attached to it. He followed it off of the board to see a red figure swinging by way of the rope. He went under rather than using the cord like a grappling hook, wrapping around the board and turning it, the figure, and Peter upside down with the momentum of the swing. Peter’s hands again caught in the cuffs as he swung back and upright, this time with his back now to the board and eyes focused on the mysterious hero now going under his feet. When pulled taught, the cord he used wasn’t nearly long enough to reach the board from the building on the other end of the street, nor the courthouse.

That meant his savior had to have thrown the line out while he was already _midair._

The red figure had snapped back above them, performing a tumble in the sky before landing on his feet on the board’s underside.

From his red suit to the red horns to to the empty red eyes- Peter could tell even over his shoulder that he was staring at Daredevil.

The billy club flowed back down to the string in his palm as he snatched his hand up to catch it without even looking at the weapon.Then he kneeled down, his hands finding Peter’s arms before he gave a nod.

Peter didn’t know what he was expected to do in that situation

In the moment of hesitation, it escaped his notice that rather than fall off of the board, the figure had stayed on. He was upside down, attached by some force of magnetization or perhaps a gravity field on the board itself. Either way, it only took a moment for the board to right itself and Peter again swung around, this time with Daredevil holding onto his hands for dear life.

That didn’t last too long before he was snatched away from Peter by the other mechanical arm, dangling from his left boot over the lawn of the courthouse. Before the claws opened up to drop him, he snared the arm in the line from his billy club, grabbing onto the loose cord in one hand and the club in the other so that he could spin out. The place he grabbed was only a foot up from the actual claws, and he tucked his legs underneath him before climbing up onto the arm itself so that it couldn’t just turn around and snap him up again.

Peter saw frustration in the way the arm shook, following the motions of the rider still holding him up.

Peter wanted to help, but knew he wasn’t strong enough to break the clamp holding him. Then the idea flashed in his head: The clamp wasn’t the thing holding him. The tongs were holding onto the _cuffs._

The time to be embarrassed over previously not understanding what Daredevil had wanted of him- when now it seemed so obvious- was later. In that moment, he pulled one arm free, a small screech echoing in his ears as he hurriedly gripped to the smooth, metal tongs trying their best to hold onto the tiny chain slowly slipping out of their hold.

It fell out of the grip completely as he swung up to sit on the head the same way Daredevil was on the opposite limb, helped by his grip instead of an actual cord.

The figure on the craft didn’t seem interested in shaking him off, still focused on where Daredevil raised his other club. He flung it at the figure, missing by a few good feet over his head. 

The would-be kidnapper laughed. It was obvious from the way his frame shook inside of the suit, shoulders spasming with glee. Peter huffed and ignored it as best he could, trying to crawl up the arm to see if he could get control of the board.

Then the crack of gunfire ran out, the arm he was holding onto detaching and plummeting with him along for the ride. He let go when an arm wrapped around his torso, eyes up and focused on Daredevil who’d left his perch in tandem with the gunshot. He tossed Peter just before the peak of the swing, the cord of his billy club snapping back in the same instant Peter was entirely airborne.

He flailed without his web shooters, arms and legs bracing for an uncertain impact while Daredevil again cooly shot out his hook, landing it on the building Peter had just been tossed towards. He moved faster in the building’s direction, his hand grabbing Peter’s around the wrist at the same time and helping them both across the street.

They didn’t make it to the top of the building, instead hanging from it by way of the billy club and Peter by Daredevil’s arm.

He made a startled noise upon looking down, struggling to remember the last time he’d been so afraid of heights.

“Kid!”

He almost thought the voice was Daredevil’s, but it was too distant. Instead, he peaked past the horned helmet staring down at him to see a familiar but no friendlier face over the lip of the roof.

“He can’t carry you up, kid! He needs two hands to climb, not all of us have tape fingers!” the Punisher called and Peter swallowed any complaints he’d had about the man.

He was so happy to see him.

He grappled onto the building, eyes finding the window now in front of his face just in time to see that his attacker speeding toward the building he was dangling from.

His eyes shot over his shoulder only to find that the Punisher had also taken notice of the figure’s approach, as signaled by the bullets that flew overhead. From what he could tell, they were well-aimed at the other arm and the board rather than the strange villain who’d attacked the courthouse. It was enough to get him to turn around, though Peter could tell by the direction of his helmet that he’d thrown a glance at the crowd below that Peter could only describe as rueful.

Then he started after Daredevil to the proper rooftop, taking a moment up there to collapse against the edge. There he noticed the rifle just used to shoot down the villain, standing up next to a crate that had probably served as a sniper perch. Under that was a duffel of ammo, a few power bars, and yet another rifle.

The Punisher himself was standing a bit away, smiling in a way Peter could almost call warm as he handed Daredevil one of his billy clubs.

“The one you threw,” Peter said, moving to stand on shaky feet as he attracted their attention, “it was a signal to make him drop me?”

“He knew he could catch you,” Castle said, sidling up to Peter as Daredevil silently twisted around and moved to the edge of the rooftop.

“Wait-!” Peter said, reaching out after him.

“Let him go, he’s got stuff to do,” Castle said.

Daredevil did wait, though. He stood turned around with his featureless red eyes boring into Peter.

Looking down, from those eyes, Peter said, “Thank you.”

Daredevil, still not saying a word, tilted his head and paced over to Peter, drawing his club as he neared.

“You forget something, hornhead?” Frank asked as he packed up his duffel.

Not acknowledging him, Daredevil kneeled down and lifted up the ankle of Peter’s suit pants.

“Hey-!” Peter objected, though he wasn’t even sure what the devil wanted with his leg.

The realization that it was the side with the ankle monitor came only after the billy club split the device in half, the face that broke off crumbling into pieces as it was spliced from Peter’s calf.

Before he could be stopped once more, Daredevil stood and returned to the edge to dive over and down, his red suit bobbing up in the distance.

Peter’s face was frozen between disbelief and rage, brow furrowed and nose wrinkled over his slack jaw. He continued to stare at where his silent hero had vanished until Frank’s laughter caught his attention.

Shifting his duffel over his shoulder, Frank walked to Peter and first offered him an energy bar.

When Peter didn’t take it, he shrugged and unwrapped it in the hand he held it in to take a big bite.

“Is he always like that?” he asked only when Frank was halfway to the opposite side of the roof, this one with the propped open door that could allow him to walk to ground level rather than grapple from building to building.

“Nah,” Frank said. “Only when you’re on his good side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no- the mysterious hero, Daredevil, has appeared!!!  
> ...  
> What a twist!


	7. Chapter 7

When Peter had slipped down the side of the building and made his way down the fire escape, he found officers waiting at the bottom. Their barrels pointed in his direction and another pair of useless cuffs slipped over his wrists. They made him wait there for what felt like twenty minutes before he was directed back to the front of the court house. There the crowd was held back by a set of rails, Peter urged through them while civilians grabbed at his suit to either thank or ridicule him. The press who littered the crowd clambered to shove microphones in his face.

He moved to push one away, flinching when the guard behind him smacked his hands down with a baton. His head dropped at the same time, eyes squinting shut at a camera flash just before he was given a final shove through the barriers.

May called his name, and that was his only warning before she flung her arms around him.

She was pulled away by a guard before he could revel in her being there or even make an attempt at hugging her back.

“Hey- he’s my nephew!” she said over their insistence that she maintain a certain distance from him.

Foggy cut between her and the guard, though he didn’t lay a hand on either of them as he said, “Our client hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s turned himself in a second time, why is he being denied time with his legal guardian?”

A voice cut out from the crowd, “Let the boy see his aunt!”

Murmurs of agreement broke out from behind the barrier, the guards behind Peter turning to address them as the cameras continued to flash and May was pulled further away.

“He is a _victim,_ why are you treating him like he had any part in this!?” May asked, her voice dropping in her fury.

“Villains like that wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for him!” another voice in the crowd yelled.

Peter turned to look at the audience now on the brink of a riot as they began to quarrel amongst themselves. The crowds devolved into chaos, noise swirling around him as the guards fell back to instead focus on the crowd.

A hand guided Peter forward, and he followed in the direction he was led, not stopping until he was at May’s side.

She turned to look at him, bringing him into her arms as the man who’d guided him said, “We’ll be escorting our client back to his safe house, if that’s alright with you.”

Peter shot up, realizing the man behind him was not a guard, but actually Matt. Matt, who’d appeared out of nowhere, didn’t seem too focused on Peter but rather the guard. His face had gone red from a mix of frustration and possibly humiliation in the face of the screaming crowd and the now two lawyers who were putting themselves between him and Peter.

“This situation has grown past dangerous, not just for him, but for everyone here. The sooner we can get him out of here, the better.”

The guard, still red in the face, hesitated for only a moment before pulling Peter forward by his upper arm. May followed close behind with Happy’s arm over her shoulders as Foggy and Matt stumbled with them. They finally collapsed into the car, officers parting the crowds before them so that the driver could finally start down the road while Peter sat uselessly in his aunt’s arms.

He was brought back to earth when he heard Matt let out an irritated hiss and bring his left leg away from where Foggy’s shin had bumped it.

“Oh, sorry,” the other lawyer said.

Matt dismissed him with a wave.

“Are you hurt?” May asked, peeling herself away from Peter.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “just twisted my ankle coming down the steps. Guess they can be a problem sometimes after all.”

May sat a bit forward. “Want me to take a look?”

“No thanks. I’m fine, really. That was uh- not quite what I was expecting.”

Foggy scoffed. “You can say that again. I wouldn’t be surprised if Blake just signed off on whatever we needed without meeting us from now on.”

“Who _was_ that?” May asked, turning between Peter and Happy.

Happy shrugged. “Not the kind of costume I’ve ever seen before. Could have been the Vulture, though. He did just break out, and all.”

“It wasn’t him,” Peter said, his eyes locked on the floor. “I mean, it wasn’t just his body type, but he didn’t move like the Vulture. Not to mention everything he used was stolen. I’ve never seen tech like that before.”

“I hope you never see it again.” Hands curling into the lap of her suit pants, May’s lips opened just to close with a huff as she composed herself. “That _thing_ just plucked you out of the room, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“May, I’m fine.” He smiled toward her, but he knew that she wasn’t really focusing on him. She was staring past him, her eyes vacant and glossy until he put his hand over hers. “I’m always fine.”

Her lips fluttered before she pursed them into a small smile. A ragged breath shook her chest and she morphed it into a laugh before wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm, glasses skewing on her face.

Half- recomposed, she regarded Foggy and Matt when the former chuckled.

“You know, I think you’ve gotten the gist that we’ve been around our fair share of super heroes,” Foggy said, “but _man,_ the guys I’ve seen bouncing around in their pajamas- they’ve never held a roof over my head before.”

“Well,” Matt bobbed his head back and forth. As if deciding against something he shook his head. “No, I guess that was just a telephone pole.”

“Oh you mean when Je- oh no, like she’s strong, but- but _Peter-”_ Foggy whistled and flopped back in his seat. “That was intense, and you just _did_ it. Thanks for saving my skin in there.”

Peter’s head slid to the side, a sad smile still smeared over his face. “I didn’t do nearly as much as Daredevil did.”

May made a strange noise between a sigh and a laugh, her hand fanning over her chest. “I didn’t even know he was an Avenger.”

“He isn’t.” Matt remained calm as ever when the group’s attention shifted to him. “Foggy and I went over the active members list very recently to gain the full circumstance of Peter’s status. Daredevil wasn’t listed, but he isn’t exactly a stranger to getting involved with things like this.”

Foggy scoffed. “Yeah, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

His eyes narrowing, Happy leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You two sound very familiar with the guy.”

“Not in particular,” Matt said. “But in an area as small as the Kitchen, well, it’d be like being from Queens and not knowing about Spiderman. Not to mention a few of our cases have skirted along the edges of his circles more than once.”

“What Matt means to say is that we know of Daredevil, but he doesn’t know us.”

To that, Matt gave a curt nod, Peter watching him with a simmering anger he didn’t know he was capable of until that moment. The motion had brought to mind the image of Matt and Frank Castle standing outside of the bedroom window, and he had to look out the tinted window of the limousine before he said, “The Punisher was there, too.”

May jumped next to him, her hand tightening around his forearm until he turned to face her.

“That was the gun that went off?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “He _shot at you?”_

“No!” Peter said, pulling away from her and sitting a bit taller as if to say he was fine. “No, he was shooting at that- that other guy. He and Daredevil were working together, I think?”

A weak laugh left May as she turned her eyes to the ceiling. She turned back to Peter with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course someone name _Daredevil_ would work with a _lunatic_ like that.” Turning to Matt and Foggy, she asked, “How did they even know where Peter was? How did that- that _squid thing_ know where he was?”

“We don’t know,” Foggy said. “If I had to guess, and this is just a really big guess, I wouldn’t put it past some new, flashy villain to call a bunch of reporters so that the world could see him take down Spiderman, or something.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill me, though,” Peter said. “He was trying to take me somewhere.”

Happy scoffed and said, “Probably to kill you,” only to shrink back when May turned on him.

“No- I mean, when Daredevil was there, that guy was really quick to drop him. He was- was _frustrated_ that he couldn’t just grab me and go. I don't know if he was trying to even kill _Daredevil,_ because he _could_ have just stabbed him with the other arm or something. He had every opportunity to kill us, but he just wanted to _take me_ somewhere.”

“Well thank goodness he didn’t,” Matt said. “Foggy and I will work on getting the names of everyone who knew that Spiderman was going to be at the courthouse today, and we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

May took that, her hand coming up to grab Happy’s when he placed it over her shoulder. They drove back to the house, otherwise silent until they spotted the caravan of cars positioned outside.

“What in the world?” May asked, leaning just past Peter to get a better view.

Turned over his shoulder, Foggy examined the cars and let out a sigh. “Those are more officers. They’re probably searching the house.”

“Can they do that?” Happy asked.

“They can,” Matt confirmed. “It was in the terms of the agreement for the safe house.” Focussing on May and Peter, he added, “They’re probably going to detain the two of you separately while they search. Just let them do their jobs. Foggy, stay with May, I’ll go with Peter.”

“Why are they going to separate us?” May asked.

In a hollow voice that was no less certain, Matt said, “It’s just a feeling I have.”

Foggy took it with a nod. “Good enough for me.” He turned to Happy. “You’re probably not gonna get let in, big guy.”

No sooner did Happy finish his scoff did his eyes fly open in realization. “My car- I left it back at the courthouse.”

“I wouldn’t bring it here,” Matt said. “Self driving cars like that usually have their addresses put into a system. Wouldn’t want that kind of information floating around like that.”

Happy nodded in agreement, opening his mouth to say something about how he’d already thought of that, only for him to pause for the question, “How’d you know I had a self-driving car?”

Almost seamlessly, Matt responded, “You told me when we met at the courthouse?”

Whatever darkness or suspicion was in Happy’s expression dimmed in favor of confusion. Still, it remained there on the corners of his face. Peter took note of it, his eyes flicking over to Matt before the car came to a stop. Then he was being pulled out of the seat.

He was aware that Matt had followed, if only because he could hear him arguing with the pair of officers leading him to the front door.

Just as the lawyer had guessed, they were split up with Aunt May in the livingroom at the front of the house and Peter taken upstairs to sit motionless on his bed while what was meant to be his room was turned upside down.

His heart leapt when they got to the box of his clothes. Luckily, how he’d folded the beanie when he put it away made it look more like it was full of aimless holes than the mask he’d worn it as. The reminder of that night scouring rooftops and the things he’d seen both in the warehouse and in this building drew his eyes to linger on the drawer he’d dumped his notebook into.

Noticing this, one of the officers stomped over and pried it open.

Peter remained outwardly calm, even though he flinched when the drawer was yanked to the end of its track. He thought it might break away from the ancient desk as the officer pulled out the notebook and tossed it to the floor, running his fingers along the edges as if looking for some false bottom.

He flinched again when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” another officer said as he started to kneel down. “I was trying to tell you, I have to look at your ankle monitor.”

“Oh- oh yeah, sure,” he said. Only when the officer started to lift the lip of his pant leg did he add, “I forgot to uh- to mention-”

But it was too late, the officer was already incredulously staring at the damaged piece of plastic hanging limply from his ankle.

Weakly, Peter finished, “There was a fight, uh- back at the um…”

The officer looked him in the eye. “This happened in the struggle at the courthouse?”

“No,” he said. “It was afterwards. Daredevil just… smashed it.”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “Why would he do that?”

The cop still checking the desk barked in laughter behind him. “Why do vigilantes do anything? Crazies, all of them.” He dusted his hands and left the desk be, everything once on or inside of it now strewn about the floor. “Come on, replace that monitor and let’s get to the rest of the rooms.”

The one still on the floor nodded, taking off the boxy brace. He pulled toward him a small, stiff bag from which he produced a round cuff.

“That one looks different.” Peter felt so stupid once the words fell out of his mouth, and he felt even more so when the officer laughed.

“It _is_ different,” he said. “It’s higher grade, tougher to get into- I’m surprised they didn’t put you in one of these in the first place. Not that I think you’re a runner, but if they were at all suspicious of you breaking out and really wanted to keep Spiderman in one area, well… Putting a fancy slap bracelet on _your_ ankle is just asking for you to try, is all.”

Peter thought about that as the new monitor was fixed in place. It was slimmer, but it felt much heavier than the broken one now being packed up.

“Does your guardian know about the damage to the cuff?” he asked.

“No,” Peter said. “I didn’t get to tell her yet.”

“Then I’ll let her know, and she’ll have to sign off on it. She might want to talk to you beforehand, at which point another officer will come up here to escort you back downstairs. Until then, you are not permitted to leave this room.” He didn’t wait for Peter to respond, nodding in Matt’s direction as he collected his bag and left, the door shut behind him.

Only when it was just him and Matt did Peter let out a sigh.

“I thought, when they saw the broken monitor, they would-” He shook his head, not wanting to think through what he thought.

Matt tilted his head and rounded the corner of the bed he’d been standing against to instead stand before Peter. “Did you think they’d blame you?”

“And take me to jail or- or the mutant detention places? Yeah! Yeah, I thought that.” He forced a long sigh into his hands as they came up to cover his face. “You have some weird friends.”

Matt chuckled. “Is Daredevil my friend now?”

Picking his head up, Peter said, “I know he is. That’s why he and- and _Frank_ were there, right? You asked them to keep an eye on the building for me?”

“Something like that,” Matt confessed. “It was only to keep you safe.”

“Don’t get me wrong- the guy saved my _life-_ but I go to thank him and he just turns around and does _this,”_ he stuck out his leg, “and just _leaves me there_ with the Punisher- with _Frank-_ and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

Matt let out a thoughtful hum. Leaning closer to Peter, he whispered, “Maybe he knew your monitor was probably going to get pulled apart and didn’t want the police to find out you’d been messing with it.”

A shudder ripped through Peter, his blood chilling as his eyes settled on a spot past Matt’s face.

“Oh my God-” he started, struggling to bite back a yell and keep his voice level, “Oh my God I’m so _stupid.”_

“I don’t think you’re ‘stupid,’ but I can’t say I would have done _half_ of the things you’ve done so far on this case. Peter,” he stood up a bit straighter, placing a hand over Peter’s where it rested on his lap to urge the younger man to look up at him, “I’m sorry for not telling you that Frank and Daredevil knew you’d be at the courthouse today, I was just trying to protect you.”

“I know,” Peter said, his voice numb as he pulled his hand away from Matt’s. “I wasn’t angry that you asked them to watch out for me. I was just… Why don’t you trust me?”

Matt slid onto the bed next to him, resting on the edge with most of his weight still on the balls of his feet. “I _do_ trust you. I couldn’t exactly tell you they would be there over the phone without risking that information leaking.”

“Oh yeah, because you somehow know my phone’s bugged, right?”

Matt’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head back with his mouth drawn into a firm line. “The number they gave you to call from records and stores messages on a police line, yes. I’m a lawyer, Peter. Is it so hard to believe that I’ve seen something like this before?”

“I think you’re not telling me something,” Peter said. “Foggy said in the car that you met Nick Fury after the blip- that you _found_ him after everything happened. How does a normal lawyer just ‘find’ the head of SHIELD?”

The air that fused with Matt’s scoff made it sound dry, like he was coughing on something before he turned away with a small smile. “Yea, it’s a weird story,” he said. “What else did Foggy tell you?”

“Why don’t you just tell me the truth and don’t worry about backing up any ‘story’ he fed me?”

“Do you think he fed you a story?”

“I think you wish he had,” Peter said.

The honesty seemed to cut Matt. At the least, it caught him off guard. He stayed in the silence of the bedroom for some time, his hands curling around his cane.

“I already told you that I’m not expecting you to trust me, Peter. You were hurt by someone you trusted before, and nothing I do will ever be able to fully make up for that.”

Peter flinched at the implication, shifting a bit off of the bed to say, “This isn’t about Beck.”

“It might not be-”

“It _isn’t._ What Beck did- it wasn’t personal, it wasn’t just to me.”

“But it affected you. I just know that you’re used to people expecting things of you- giving you information to buy trust in exchange- and I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t need you to expect that of me. That’s not what I’m here for. So you keep your trust, I’ll keep my secrets, and we’ll keep doing what we’ve been doing.”

That same anger from the limousine flooded Peter, and he steeled himself before throwing himself off of the bed and pacing to the desk. There he began to collect the items discarded over the floor.

Noticing the noise, Matt cocked his head.

“You don’t have anything in here you shouldn’t have, do you?” he asked.

Peter didn’t answer.

“How about in other areas of the house?” At the sustained silence, Matt sighed. “Peter, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”

“We don’t need to help each other,” Peter said. “We just need to keep doing what we’ve been doing, right”

Matt pursed his lips, muttering “Alright then” under his breath as he stood to leave.

The click of the lock was deafening.

* * *

After what felt like days of sitting with the Parkers while their new normal was torn apart, Matt fell into a cab with Foggy. The places the pleather had chipped away to expose the soft canvas underneath was rough on his skin, his hand shooting into his lap to avoid brushing on the jagged edges.

“So,” Foggy began, “I take it you still haven’t told our client about that, uh… similar case we worked on?”

“What?” Matt asked.

The air whipped around Foggy’s head as he nodded to the front of the cab where the driver sat.

So he was trying to be cryptic. It was just a shame Matt wasn’t as much of a reader as others believed him to be.

“I’m guessing you mean the other civil suit?”

“Yeah, _the suit.”_

“Foggy, you know we can’t just go around telling the people we represent about other clients.”

“I just think it’d be easier for him to see your side of things if he knew that you’ve dealt with similar things in the past. I mean, it’s not like he’s the kind of k- the kind of _person_ to go blabbing about that stuff, especially after everything he’s been through recently.”

“I’m not worried about _him_ talking,” Matt said. “I’m worried about people that would want him to talk.” The cabbie’s heart rate picked up in front of him, and he raised a hand to keep Foggy from talking. “Just drop it for now, please. Wait until we get to the firm.”

Foggy sighed, but didn’t push. He did, however, say, “He could use someone to talk to, is all. Someone who knows what he’s going through.”

“I do know what he’s going through,” Matt agreed, “and that’s why I’m not talking to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Matt Perspective... as a treat.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a week of panicked phone calls between Peter, Aunt May, SHIELD, law enforcement, and of course _Nelson and Murdock._ He answered the same questions- no, he didn’t know who the masked figure was, no, he didn’t know what they wanted him for, no, he didn’t _call them there._

The last one stung the most for obvious reasons, Peter curling in on himself and forcing himself to answer calmly each time. He considered each word of his responses, which is why he felt so tired every time Matt or Foggy were to pitch in with “What my client means-”

“I don’t think he was trying to kill me” didn’t need Foggy’s asterix of “My client isn’t insinuating he knows the intent of his attempted kidnapper.”

Peter knew what he meant, and others knew what he meant. He didn’t need the lawyers talking for him like he was a kid who didn’t know any better.

For that same week, he didn’t find himself sleeping much. His phone went ignored. He didn’t want to talk about Daredevil's involvement, as he’d already had to bite his tongue in talks with Fury about the incident.

He may not have liked Matt, but that didn’t mean he wanted to blow his secrets in a call that might be monitored by police. Then there was the fact that he couldn’t exactly say “My lawyer personally knows at least two vigilantes” without adding in that he’d figured out the former when he broke out of confinement. It took the end of that week for him to realize that he probably wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. The only way to disrupt the GPS signal or get it to stick without breaking into the device itself would be to create a counter signal, which he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do.

Over that week, he’d resigned himself to the fact that his life was in the hands of a man he couldn’t trust, and the next six months were time he should spend getting used to that.

Aunt May most likely noticed his frustration while he pooled over his required reading on the couch. Thus she held her macromet project under her arm and came to stand in front of him.

“Bored?”

“A little,” he said, leaving out the more pressing issues on his mind.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “I have more twine if you wanted to try learning. Not as cool as web swinging or whatever, but it’s still weaving, right?”

He grunted and shoved himself up with a sigh. “It’s web _slinging,_ May, and no thanks.”

She huffed and dropped herself into the stiff arm chair across from him. Her ankles crossed over one another as she resumed her latest project.

“This is a planter,” she said. “Maybe we can get some plants in here soon.”

“Yeah,” he said, not really invested.

Her eyes fell to the floor. “Maybe I can get Happy to bring you one of those- those tinkerer kits? I know Matt said you probably couldn’t have anything advanced like the stuff you were working are at the school, but making one of those would be fun, right?”

“Yeah, if I was ten.” He looked over his book. “Wait- he’s _Matt_ now?”

Her eyes narrowed over her smile. “We’ve known him for almost a month now, Pete. _Over_ a month, actually. About time we started using first names.”

Peter resettled into the couch with a huff, holding his spot in the now-closed book with a finger pressed between the pages. 

“May, is there anyway we could like, look for a new lawyer?”

Her face dropped and she set her project dangled between her knees as she leaned forward in the chair to ask, “What’s wrong with Matt and Foggy?”

“They’re just-” _liars._ “We don’t know anything about them, is all.”

“Fury recommended them,” she said. “Fury hooked us up, and they’re doing us a real favor. This isn’t like you to just- just dismiss that.”

“I know they’re doing a lot for us- for _me-_ but whenever they talk about me or around me, I get this feeling that they’re not telling the whole truth.”

She tilted her head. “Your tingle?”

Rather than correct her, he provided a stiff nod. “Something like that.”

“Well,” she shifted back into her seat, “do you think they’re trying to hurt you? Or trying to get you to lose your case?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t know, Pete.” Her eyes fell for a moment, refocusing on him as she opened and closed her mouth. Having decided on what she was going to say, she asked, “Does this have anything to do with Mysterio?”

“No! I don’t have trust issues because of Mysterio!”

“I didn’t say you did-”

“No, but Mr. Mur- ugh- Matt _did.”_ He pressed the heels of his hands into his knees, curling over his own lap before piecing his hands together so tightly that his knuckles went white where they rested between his legs. He had to focus not to yell, already sorry that he’d raised his voice at all. “He said he didn’t _want_ me to trust him. Who says that?”

May’s expression remained uncertain, but she searched for an answer anyway. She stood, leaving her unfinished project on the arm of the chair as she instead took a seat on the edge of the coffee table. Pulling Peter’s head up to look at her by the chin, she started with a low, “Pete,” and waited until he met her eyes. “I know you’ve been through so much, and I know I haven’t been a lot of… well, I haven’t been any help.”

“That’s not true, May.”

“Then I haven’t felt like I’ve done anything. At the least, I haven’t done enough. We never properly talked after Tony, and-”

He let out a noise and stood, brushing her hand away. “I don’t _want_ to talk about him. I don’t _need_ to talk about him- this isn’t about him, this is about Mr. _Beck.”_ Catching himself, he smeared a hand over his eyes. “I mean- Murdock. This is about _Mr. Murdock.”_

May pursed her lips, unconvinced as her half-lidded eyes darted to the side. “We never really talked about that either, did we, Petey?”

“We don’t have to,” he said. “He was a villain, I stopped him-”

“He died, Peter. Even though he was a horrible person- a _terrible_ person- he still died, and so did Tony. You shouldn’t have to deal with those on your own.”

“Just don’t.” He backed up, stumbling when his foot caught the transition strip where the carpet of the living room met the tile of the kitchen. He caught himself, staved off the shudders threatening to tear through him, and stood a bit taller. “I- I’m gonna go lay down.”

“Okay,” she said, voice distant when he made it all the way up the stairs. Still he heard her add, “I love you.”

Not trusting his voice, he didn’t say it back.

His eyes caught the attic door at the top of the stairs, and he realized not for the first time that the officers who searched the house must have left the attic alone, not even touching it to find the scanner stashed inside.

He crawled up there without hesitation, pulling himself over the lip of the ceiling to find it just where he’d left it. It switched on easily, his eyes lidding as he rested on the floor.

* * *

The next day, he called MJ.

He gave her an apology for not calling sooner mixed with an explanation as to why he’d “ignored” her calls: he hadn’t received them. 

The number wasn’t made to receive calls.

 _“Should have told me that,”_ she’d said. Then, softer, she added, _“Just don’t ghost me next time you get attacked by a supervillain, okay?”_

Her worry melted him and brought him to grin stupidly as he rolled the phone to hold it between his shoulder and his cheek.

“I- I can do that, yeah.”

MJ must have heard as he moved some of the things in his hand around the room.

_“What are you doing?”_

“Cleaning up,” he said. “After we got back from the courthouse, there was a search and I still haven’t gotten around to it.”

 _“You went to_ another _courthouse?”_ MJ asked.

“No.” He went silent as he stood, the shirt in his hand twisting around his fist. “It’s been a long week.”

 _“Been a long summer,”_ she corrected. _“Hey, Ned said you couldn’t talk about everything, because of… you know, Super stuff. Is there any_ other _reason you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you?”_

She seemed to take his silence as an answer when paired with the sigh that caught in his throat.

 _“Complicated, I get it,”_ she said. _“Hey, the required reading, you’re getting that done, right?”_

“Yeah.”

_“What book did you pick?”_

“Uh, I got _Great Exp-”_

_“That one’s dumb. I’m gonna send you a book, okay? I’m gonna send you two.”_

Peter closed his mouth and nodded. 

Only when MJ said, _“Ok?”_ did he realize she couldn’t see his acceptance.

He laughed. “Yeah, MJ. That sounds great.”

_“You have no idea. Stay strong, okay? The world needs Spiderman, and I need Peter.”_

He could feel his chest lighten with the skipped beat, and the phone slid back into his palm to switch to the other ear.

“I need you, too, MJ.” _I need you, too._

* * *

It was two days later, and Happy ended up bringing two tinkering kits anyway. At the very least, they didn’t appear to be made for children. He could see an older teenager like himself taking an interest in them, even if he specifically had worked with more complex systems on his off period at school. Peter took them into his hands anyway, fingers catching on the edges as he smiled to feed into the pride on Happy’s face.

“Thanks, Happy,” he said.

“Hey, you need something to do other than your homework, right?” He laughed at it like it was a joke. “I might be able to get a- a Playstation or something in here for you, dunno if I trust those monkeys out there not to tear one apart if I tried.”

“This is nice enough, Happy. Thank you.”

“No problem. I have something else, too.” He produced a plain, paper gift bag with twine handles. “Your girlfriend asked me to drop this off.”

“Girlfriend!?” May asked from where she was making dinner, her smile pushing up her glasses. She readjusted them before pausing to wipe her hands on the towel that hung off of the oven handle. “I thought Liz moved away. Oh- wait- how is she taking the whole ‘I dated the guy who put my dad in prison, thing?’”

“It’s not Liz, May,” he said. “Her name is- it’s _Michelle._ It’s MJ.”

“And how long has this been a thing?”

He set the kits down on the table. “The trip. We… yeah.” His hands drummed on the boxes, eyes away from his aunt’s.

She seemed to take that as an invitation, her hand coming up to ruffle his hair. His own hand batted her away gently, a laugh bubbling out of his chest.

“Wait- MJ? The same MJ on TV?” His nod prompted her to let out a long, _“Wow,”_ an approving smile on her face. “Talk about having someone in your corner.” As if only just remembering Happy had said the girl in question had sent something, she stood next to him and peered over his shoulder. “What’d she get him?”

The brown bag in Happy’s hand was slack with weight, springing back to its boxy shape once it was set on the table.

“Oh yeah,” Peter said, “she said she was gonna get me some books?”

“I didn’t check it,” Happy confessed, sliding the bag to Peter. “Those guys did, but she just came into the tower demanding to see me- seemed pretty serious.”

The humor in his tone was obvious, coloring it in plumes as Peter pulled the novels. _The Circle_ and _1984._

He studied the books for a minute, May along with him as he turned them over in his hands. From the top of _1984,_ he could see a paper poking out.

He tugged it out carefully and pulled it open to expose various numbers and equations lining the page in seemingly random directions.

May, probably thinking it was a note, leaned over with an expectant smile only for it to fall. “Is that… old homework?”

“The cops outside looked at it funny, too,” Happy said. “I was getting my stuff together after they basically dumped my bag out, and I saw the one snear at it. Dunno if he even put it back on the right page.”

Peter was about to shrug it off and say that it was probably just some scrap paper, except the numbers didn’t make any sense. It was a weird read with impossible equations like “154^84-42)=8” and strange fractions circled in various corners of the page. A lot of the questions contained numbers to the eighty-fourth power, which he thought was especially weird considering the book he’d pulled it from.

More than that, the page he’d pulled the page from- his finger still holding it in place- was one hundred fifty-four.

The realization hit him like a truck.

It was a cipher.

He collected the books, shuffling them back into the bag along with the kits.

“Thanks a lot, Happy!” he said. “I’ll just- uh, take these upstairs and you guys can get back to your date.”

“Oh- you don’t have to go,” May said. “What about dinner?”

He paused, his hands still on the bag handles as he looked at his aunt. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Pete,” she shifted her weight onto one leg, “come on, this doesn’t have to be awkward, right?”

“It’s not about that,” he dismissed, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Really, May. I’m just not hungry.”

She sighed and walked back to the stove, her hand touching his shoulder in passing. “Fine. Hope you’re not making a habit of this.”

“I won’t,” he promised before he turned back to Happy. “I mean it, though. Thanks for everything. For the other book, too. I know I said that already, but you know.”

Happy shook his head at that with a lazy smile. “Thank your lawyer.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, but he maintained a smile. “What do you mean?”

Happy looked up to answer, eyes widening as he looked over Peter’s shoulder.

When Peter turned around, it was just in time to see May look back down at the mac n cheese she was a little too focused on stirring.

“What?” Peter asked again. “What does he have to do with it?”

“Nothing, really,” Happy said. “If you’d asked, I would have gotten it for you either way, but he was the one who said to ask if you needed stuff for school.”

Peter’s skin grew clammy at the memory of Happy glancing at Matt before he’d asked him about the book.

“He- he specifically said _school stuff?”_ Peter asked. “But you just asked if I needed anything.”

“Well it’s _summer,”_ Happy said with a chuckle. “I was just trying to humor the guy without looking stupid. Good thing he said something though, or else we both might have forgotten, huh?”

“Yeah, good thing.” He collected the bag against his chest. “Thanks again, Happy.”

After climbing upstairs, Peter dumped the kits onto his bed and slid the books out of their bag. He removed the papers from their pages and pulled out the notebook he’d nearly abandoned. The page after his little logic web, he started to solve the notes given to him.

It was weird at first, as he’d incorrectly guessed that the ones without an eighty-four in them were all for _The Circle,_ but then he had to guess what the ones without eighty-fours that were circled were meant to signal.

It was partway into the cipher he realized the circles and eighty-fours were just hints as to how to solve the cipher. There was another code to signal as to which of the two books he should look at. That was the fact that all of _The Circle_ “equations” were written as multiplication or division problems, the latter sometimes depicted as fractions, while the _1984_ problems were all addition and subtraction.

The eighty-fours were mostly just to signal those few and get him started, but the first number in any problem was the page number. The next was the line, and finally the word. 

After he had all of the words, he just had to arrange them in order. After a bit of trial and error- reading them in order of left to right as the equations were written, reading them from top to bottom, and on- he finally struck gold when going from the top right to the bottom left diagonally.

_“Hello Pete.”_

Two words- a greeting from _1984_ and a name from _The Circle._

He smiled and continued to put the words in order.

_“I know you’re probably worried about bugs. Hopefully this lets you breathe easier. You can’t send long messages like this, but if you need to talk, you can without worrying about BIG BROTHER._

_I’m here for you._

_-Jones”_

It was a short message, and one that took way too long for him to crack, but he was so glad for having done it.

So glad, in fact, that he had to fight off the urge to jump for his phone. Rather, he took some time to consider how he could talk to MJ now that he could. How was he meant to tell her so much? It wouldn’t take long for people listening in to realize they were using a code of some kind if he just started listing off numbers.

So he began flipping through and skimming the pages for the words he’d need. Peter was sure MJ had really only needed two books for both the joke and to use his name when necessary. Jones of _1984_ and Pete of _The Circle._

He smiled to himself as he found the words, piecing them together in a more broken sentence than MJ’s note. He wouldn’t have as much time as she had.

Not that he wanted to do _this_ for much longer, scrambling for his phone as soon as he’d completed his list of equations.

MJ must have been waiting for him to call, as she responded with the same immediacy.

_“Did you get it?”_

He laughed around the word “Yeah” before remembering people could be listening. “The books! Yeah I got the books!”

 _“Good,”_ MJ said. _“I have the same ones, so maybe we could like, read together, or something.”_

He’d assumed she’d had the same prints of each book. It wouldn’t work if they didn’t have the same ones after all.

“Sure wish we could do that tonight,” Peter said with a groan. “May’s got me on some math work books for the summer. Some of them are really easy, but this phone they gave me doesn’t exactly have a calculator.”

 _“Woah, are you going to_ use _me as a human calculator?”_

A smile spread across his face as she played into the rouse.

“No. I mean- yeah, exactly. Is that okay?”

Perhaps a bit too eager, she asked, _“What’s the first problem?”_

He gave her an addition problem, “Two hundred and fifty-six plus one plus seven?”

There was a flurry of typing over the hiss of paper on paper as she tracked down the word “lawyers” from _1984._

_“Two hundred sixty-four. Come on, you can do better than that.”_

She wanted him to make them sound more intricate- more believable that he’d need a calculator to do them.

A compound problem then. “Yeah, maybe I’m just lazy. Here’s one I’m really stuck on. It’s fifty-six times fourteen to the third power plus a hundred and three.”

It was page one hundred and word three on the first line. It seemed that she understood that, finding the pages much faster and shooting back the answer, _“One hundred and fifty-three thousand seven hundred sixty-seven.”_

And in that same broken language, he told her everything.

In Eggers’ words, he told her of how he snuck out. It was Orwell’s pros that narrated his meeting with the Punisher, although he named him “punish” for lack of anything closer. MJ seemed to get it though, if the way her breath hitched was any indication.

 _“Is your brain rotting yet?”_ she asked as a thin veil for if he was okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually think it’s helping.”

There was a creak as she leaned back in her chair. _“You think the math is_ helping? _The math that,”_ her voice caught as for once in her life, MJ struggled for the words. _“Ugh,_ math _kills people sometimes, you know? Like, when it’s used to make bombs.”_

“Yeah, but math also does some good stuff,” he said. “Like-” 

He stopped himself before saying “building things like courthouses” because that was too obvious. Matt had never said who he thought was listening, but if it was anyone other than the police, he’d have to be very careful.

He looked back at his list of equations drawn up like a makeshift dictionary. “Like- you don’t know when knowing ‘one hundred ninety-two plus twenty to the eighth power’ could come in handy.”

It was just the word “courts,” but he’d have to hope it would be enough.

“Besides,” he added as she searched, “I think math is changing? Like, for some people. Or just one person.”

MJ’s hands stilled as she found the word. After a pause to contemplate it’s connection, she asked, _“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

“Well, like how people change for people. Like, when Ned and Betty started dating.”

 _“Dating?”_ she repeated before calming herself enough to add, _“You mean, like, who’s doing the math? What the math is for? That’s what makes it kill people or not?”_

“Yeah, that’s the metaphor I’m working with here. It just matters who the math is working for.”

_“And who is the math… ‘working for’ in your case?”_

Peter wet his lips and bit at them, considering how to put this without just blurting out his name.

“Nevermind,” he said. “Um, hey, I didn’t write down the answer to that first really easy problem, can you read me the answer again?”

There was another moment of silence before a thud sounded out from over the line- the telltale noise of a book against the carpet before MJ asked, _“Both of them!?”_

“No!” he yelped, holding the phone away from his ear before resituating it against his face. “No no, just the one. I’m only really worried about the one, really.”

 _“Wait- so- ugh, right, the answer.”_ Another creak came over the line as MJ recollected herself as well as the book from her floor. _“Read me the problem again? Just to make sure I have this right.”_

“Right,” he said, pulling _The Circle_ over and flipping through the pages. “Actually, it’s part of a bigger problem. Let me just read out the whole thing. It’s ‘Two hundred and fifty-six plus one plus seven over two hundred and fifty-eight times the sum of four and twelve.”

 _“Got it,”_ MJ said.

 _“Lawyers”_ again, and also _“blind.”_ It wasn’t like either book had a Matt or a Murdock or any other variation on his name.

 _“Oh, hey,”_ she said, piecing the words together, _“I think Ned told me about this problem. He must have the same workbook you do.”_

“‘Problem’ is right,” Peter mumbled.

 _“I mean,_ he _didn’t try to say math was_ helping _him, so is that really true? Is this such a problem?”_

He went rigid in his chair. “Yeah, MJ. It’s still math, math that’d be way more transparent if I had a calculator, but it seems like the universe is out to keep me away from actually _solving_ anything.”

_“Well, maybe it wants you to figure it out on your own? I mean, if you wanted to bust out the long division and start simplifying some fractions… I know you could do it.”_

His heart sank at the words, and his hand found the crook of his elbow as he slid over his desk. “You mean that, MJ?”

 _“Yeah,”_ she laughed. _“I’m here to help whenever you need me to, and I’ll try to get some stuff figured out on my end while you’re still holed up, but if you’re waiting for someone to tell you that you can do anything: This is it.”_

He stared ahead as she spoke, eyes eventually dropping to the notebook with all of his notes on their language and cyphers. He turned the pages over, back to the unfinished web. There he settled on the empty space labeled “The Buyer,” his thumb running over the words as he pursed his lips.

“Thanks, MJ.”

_“No problem. Go get em, Tiger.”_

Later that night, after they'd finished their phone call, Peter picked up those kits Happy had brought. He also took a metal lock box they’d found the keys to the house in out of the closet downstairs. He set them on the floor of the attic, spreading out the tools that came with them along the wood. It wasn’t a lot to work with, and he had to do a lot of it without a GPS to test it on, but it’d work.

It had to work.

He wasn’t helpless, and he wasn’t just going to sit around listening to vague snippets of how the world was doing without him- of what New York was doing without him. If he couldn’t manage to do this, he was better off just being on the run. If only he could get out there and show people that he wasn’t the criminal they were accusing him of, then maybe he could get some room to breathe. This would all be over so much sooner if he was just out there.

MJ was right, people needed him out there. Even if they hated him, and even if he was a criminal by all of their accounts, they needed him.

And when they needed him, he’d be there.


End file.
